Invitation for the Spellbound
by KLMeri
Summary: McCoy can't tell if he has been gifted or cursed. And anyway, this newfound ability is interfering with his chances at acquiring a date for the Sweetheart Ball. K/S/M. - COMPLETE
1. Part One

**Title** : Invitation for the Spellbound (1/3)  
 **Author** : klmeri  
 **Fandom** : Star Trek TOS  
 **Pairing** : Kirk/Spock/McCoy  
 **Summary** : McCoy can't tell if he has been gifted or cursed. And anyway, this newfound ability is interfering with his chances at acquiring a date for the Sweetheart Ball.  
 **A/N** : Written for McSpirkHolidayFest; based on the prompt: _Bones gains the ability to read minds temporarily as a gift of thanks for helping save the life of an alien princess. He learns some very interesting things from Spock and Jim at the Valentine's Day party._

* * *

 _One week ago..._

The class-M planet lying near the border of Alpha and Beta quadrants was named Quirinus after its discoverer's obsession with the Sabine god of early Earth history. It still existed on the known star-charts as such; its true name, however, as given by the planet's native race translated to _World of Ancients_.

Ancient was an appropriate word, in Leonard McCoy's opinion. What civilization remained on Quirinus had begun to decay.

Upon his first look of Quirinus's surface, the doctor felt an inexplicable sadness. The palace which housed the Quiran leader, the Domina, sat crumbling on the banks of a sunken river, exposing elegant rooms with massive hearths and delicate paints. Rooms still sealed emitted frail lights where the shadows of the Quirans living there drifted behind thin curtains. The capital city which must have once been teeming with the riches of its people laid largely abandoned and unused. Roofless hovels and sagging mansions broke the lines of the cobbled streets. The low-ranking Quirans who had nowhere else to go survived in the old tunnels of the undercity, using street drains, broken windows, and the holes above their heads like doorways.

In short, centuries of greed and decadence had given way to a poverty that could not be undone.

A lone dignitary came to greet the Enterprise's landing party, a man not even of the social standing they would later learn to eat at the same table as the Domina and her High Court. Leonard had been prepared for an aloof reception after hearing the cautionary tales from the Federation ambassador among them who had once visited the Quirans during their more resplendent past. But no one, Leonard suspected, had imagined that the Quirans would show outright disdain for guests that they had urgently summoned.

Fifty years ago, during first contact with the Quirans, the planet had been on the brink of depletion of its natural resources. The exploratory party had given warning of this and been ignored. Now that Quirinus had no more to give to sustain its inhabitants, their plight was dire. After years of refusing to entertain the notion of joining the Federation, an invitation from the Domina to the President had come. In turn, the President had requested Starfleet to escort an ambassadorial party to Quirinus with the understanding that the Federation would take the higher road and keep relations civil. For their part in this cooperation, the Quirans agreed to allow a small team of scientists to accompany the delegation and make a study of the planet, the Quiran society and culture. Some individuals speculated this meant the Quirans were desperate for help, indeed; others declared it meant the race had hitherto lived in secrecy for no reason except ego. But everyone agreed that this was an opportunity to take regardless of circumstance and old grudges.

Leonard came and went with the first landing party, unimpressed by the haughty Quirans themselves but intrigued by their lifestyle. For all intents and purposes, to a man uneducated in the Quiran way, they were magic users.

Before his commission aboard the Enterprise, McCoy would have said he didn't believe in fairy tales, but in the years since he has witnessed some extravagantly unorthodox events, happenings that one should deem impossible according to the laws of nature. This has brought about a change to his thinking on many fronts, and at the heart of it, an agreement with the Enterprise's Science Officer: no phenomenon was impossible, only merely improbable by the standards of knowledge they currently employed. There would always be mysteries of the universe waiting to be solved, and yet more mysteries waiting to be discovered.

So Leonard took the tour of the palace, courtesy of the Domina, and kept an open mind. When he returned to the starship, he had seen enough secrets and rituals to accept that scientists like him would require years to understand all the nuances that made the Quirans—and Quirinus itself—unique.

He hadn't expected another opportunity to observe their strange ways, yet it had come in the form of an urgent request for medical assistance. Now he sat inside the most secretive room of all at the heart of the palace feeling like a country bumpkin come to show off skills that he hadn't realized until then were quite rudimentary.

The Domina's two attendants were visible in an adjoining room, making a potion in a large cauldron. Its distillation of ingredients Leonard was certain to have no knowledge of, given that the room contained an assortment of oddities, including cages of noisy reptiles and amphibians. These creatures, he had recently been told, were useful for their venom or body parts. The very thought had made him choke.

The potion-in-progress, glowing and stinking, had the attendants' full attention. The bedridden Domina had Leonard's. Studiously ignoring the croak of a toad on its way to oblivion inside the bubbling pot, Leonard slid his hand away from his patient's limp wrist to adjust his tricorder. The device whirred almost until it rattled, energized by the strange atmosphere or frankly, like its owner, just unnerved by it. Leonard had only a few prior readings of the Quiran physiology to work with, and what he saw now was the oddest reading yet. In a human, it would signify certain death.

The Domina, though ailing, did not appear to be dying.

"When did the symptoms begin?" he asked.

"Soon after the midday meal," the Domina responded without a flicker of expression. Her eyes, black and still, remained fixated on McCoy. "Perhaps your captain has sought to secure my alliance through means not quite so diplomatic."

It took Leonard a second too long to understand her, and when he did, he stiffened. "You think..." He worked past a lump in his throat and said flatly, "Ma'am, I am offended. We don't do business by _poisoning_ people."

"How then does your Federation conduct its business?"

"As you've seen!" he snapped. "By keeping our manners even when people like you don't."

The Domina's mouth curled into a humorless smile. "Manners which you clearly lack, Dr. McCoy."

He shut off his tricorder and shifted away from the edge of the bed.

"Would you leave me ailing so?" the Domina challenged.

"I'm a doctor first and an officer second," Leonard stated, still peeved but also recognizing a patient who would rather antagonize her doctor than admit to feeling weak. "I won't leave even if you order me to."

After an ominous silence, she said, "You are mannerless _and_ disobedient."

Leonard ignored the goad. "Frankly, I think you have been poisoned," he continued, "but I'm not familiar enough with the lifeforms on this planet to guess at the makeup of the poison." He pulled the strap of his medkit over his head and opened the small container to retrieve a hypospray. "That doesn't mean our version of the medical sciences are completely useless to you, Domina." He held up the hypospray for her to see. "This is a symptom reliever I tweaked after the first meeting with your people. The formula is agreeable to most humanoids—" He suppressed a smile. "—unless you ask the opinion of a Vulcan."

Lowering the hypospray to his lap, he added, "And if you're willing, we have equipment on our ship which is capable of analyzing your blood and matching the results against the organic samples our scientists collected over the course of the week. We may be lucky enough to identify an agent in your bloodstream associated with the poison affecting your health."

"That will not be necessary," the Domina remarked slowly. "I am aware of which poison was used—and who administered it."

He frowned, then. "If you knew all along, then why did you request that my captain send me to assist you?"

The Domina called to an attendant instead of answering. The male entered the bedroom and produced a tiny glass vial of shimmering liquid from the sleeve of his robe. She uncapped the vial and drank from it until it was empty then held it loosely in one hand, her eyes falling closed.

"Domina?" he called sharply, worriedly, activating his tricorder once again.

"A moment, Doctor," she murmured. Gradually the color of her skin returned to its natural golden hue. When her eyes opened, she said, "You have passed."

 _Passed what?_ he thought. It wasn't as if the woman had poisoned herself simply to test the honor of a bunch of Starfleet officers!

Leonard thought on that a second longer, realized the truth must not be far off, and experienced a fury that momentarily tied up his tongue.

The Domina was no fool, despite her now-obvious ploy. She remarked coolly, "My actions anger you."

"You're out of your mind," he countered, unclenching his teeth. "Indulging in these... these _dangerous_ machinations for the sake of politics!"

"Captain Kirk presented himself as an honest and fair man, as did your other Federation representatives. Despite this, what one appears to be is not always what one is, Dr. McCoy."

"This isn't about Kirk!" Leonard roared, startling the others nearby and causing the guard in the antechamber to approach the archway in between the rooms to inspect the situation.

"Speak carefully," warned the Domina.

But Leonard was far beyond speaking with care. He shook his finger at the Quiran. "How dare you play with your own life!"

The Domina sat up suddenly, black eyes fierce, looking of a much younger age than Leonard would have guessed of her. "And who are you to speak so rudely?"

"Your physician!" he slapped back. "That gives me some say when a patient is acting like a damn fool!"

"I am Domina. I am judged by no one, least of all a servant in the healing arts."

"Well consider this me judging you, Domina—and finding you wanting for sense." Leonard turned his back on her, pulling out the communicator clipped to his uniform. He would be damned if he stayed another minute with such a person.

" _Wait_."

The command was imperious, sharp, but also a touch shaken.

McCoy closed his eyes, forced himself to breathe. He knew he was about to ruin a week's worth of negotiation and diplomacy. Did he have that right?

Clutching his communicator, he faced the Domina again. "I apologize for my tone." He paused, then added pointedly, "But not for my words."

The Domina stared at him in silence for too long, finally saying, "I do not understand you."

The feeling was mutual, agreed Leonard, though he held his tongue.

"I expected anger for the deception and wounded pride for the mistrust. Yet I sense in you neither."

Did she really not understand his point? He said grimly, "I told you, I'm a doctor. My job—no, my _oath_ —is to protect and preserve life. It offends me that you seem to have no care for yours."

"My life is my mine to risk," she said sharply.

He swallowed down a rude word. "I've heard that rationalization before. I can't agree with it."

She considered him, then, before ordering, "Come here." When Leonard made no move to close the distance between them, she said with unexpected dryness, "You are still inclined to disobedience, I see. Very well. I recognize my debt to you, McCoy of the Starship Enterprise."

The attendants shared a glance, and the guard at the edge of the room bowed and backed through the doorway until he disappeared from sight.

"A simple apology will do," Leonard said, not liking the word 'debt'. In that moment he felt glad that he had insisted he did not require an audience while treating the Domina. Jim already despaired of his skills—or lack thereof—in diplomacy.

"A Domina does not apologize," the woman intoned in kind. "I shall grant you a peace offering instead."

"I don't need—"

"Know that this gift is not given lightly."

"Now wait a minute," he tried to interject again.

The Domina pointed at Leonard, her voice deepening as if she spoke in ritual or of an incantation. "Let there be no deception; you will hear truly. Let there be no mistrust; you will feel truly."

A chill ran down Leonard's spine.

The look in the Quiran's eyes turned shrewd. "Let there be no doubt of a life that is valued above all else." She lowered her arm, pronouncing with finality, "The Domina's gift has been given."

The attendants lowered their eyes and returned to the adjoining chamber.

"We shall see how deeply your commitment extends, Dr. McCoy," the Domina said as Leonard took an uncertain step backward.

Why did he think this woman just cursed him? Leonard didn't know.

It would be futile to press her for more information of her intentions. Let the ambassadors handle her.

Leonard unlocked his jaw and flipped open his communicator, hailing the Enterprise with "McCoy here. Tell the Captain the Domina feels like herself again."

"Good to hear your voice, Doctor!" the Chief Engineer's voice called back. "Capt'n's been a fright since you beamed doun. We had trouble with the transporter until just now. Some kind of surface interference."

"Is that so?" Leonard murmured, still eyeing his recovered patient, whose expression gave nothing away.

The Domina laid back on her mound of pillows and closed her eyes, a sign of dismissal.

"Well," decided Scotty, "I don't see a need for delay if you're ready."

"Am I ever," Leonard replied. "One to energize."

* * *

 _Present day_

"Nurse, hand me that dermal regen." Leonard eyes his current patient on a medical biobed. "Ready for another round, Lt. Chang?"

The young woman hadn't been conscious when she was brought to Sickbay in the aftermath of a lab accident. Leonard's staff had performed the initial treatment for the burns on her left arm; now, with the swelling subsided and damaged skin removed, the regeneration process could begin.

"Call me Lin, Doctor. Will it hurt?" Lin asks.

"Some patients feel discomfort while the skin grows," Leonard elaborates. "Tingling or numbness of the afflicted area. If your body's very sensitive to the treatment, you could experience a burning sensation."

"It couldn't be worse than the pain of having your skin burned off," she counters, holding out her bandaged arm as permission to proceed.

Leonard activates the medical device in his hand. "Tell me if you want to stop. There's no reason we can't do this incrementally."

Lin falls momentarily silent. "What would you recommend, sir?"

"Get it over and done. Then you'll be out of bandages in time for the Sweetheart Ball." He winks.

She offers him a tiny smile. "I do have a date to impress."

"That makes one of us." Leonard laughs so the lieutenant knows he means that in good spirits.

He begins the procedure. Halfway through, Lin's expression has tightened a considerable amount, but there's a resolution in her eyes that speaks of her determination to endure the unpleasantness of the skin regeneration until the end.

Clearing his throat, he employs the age-old trick of distraction. "Which department?"

Lin doesn't respond at first.

Leonard lifts the regen from her arm, repeating, "Which department?"

Lin blinks, then, and focuses on his face. "Sir?"

"What's your specialty, Lieutenant?" He quirks an eyebrow and makes a show of inspecting a patch of new skin, saying offhandedly, "I'm partial to the biological sciences, myself."

"Archaeometallurgy."

"So I have no chance of persuading you to join my team of geneticists?"

Her eyes twinkle. "None, sir."

"Damn. You see," he goes on to explain, replacing the regen against her arm, "I was hoping to have a staff member with some insight into one of the greatest mysteries of our century."

Now he's caught her interest. "What's that, Doctor?"

Leonard allows himself a small smile. "How in all this galaxy did Mr. Spock win the vote for favorite department head?"

Lin flushes, and Leonard would bet it has nothing to do with the application of the dermal regenerator.

"Maybe you could shed some light on this quandary?" he drawls.

The nurse on McCoy's right sighs and murmurs, " _We_ voted for you," which her boss promptly ignores.

"Well," Lin says with some care, "Cmdr. Spock is rather exemplary in his field."

Leonard harrumphs. "You could say that about half the officers on this floating boat."

Her eyes widen at her mistake. "Of course you're just as exemplary as Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy!"

"Don't try to cuckold me, young lady," he clucks. "I'm well-aware that your superior won by a landslide."

Lin looks to Nurse Valente for help, who busies herself with unfolding and re-folding bits of gauze.

Leonard gently exposes the underside of his patient's arm and starts on the skin there. "What about the captain?" he persists. "Why not vote for him? He's head of the entire ship." Leonard wouldn't have minded losing to Jim... maybe.

"That wouldn't seem fair." Lin looks at Leonard with sudden concern. "Is Captain Kirk upset?"

"Of course not. He's very pleased to have evidence that our Vulcan officer is remarkably popular with the crew." Not that McCoy has heard this directly from Jim, but he can guess well enough it's the reason why Kirk often looks like a proud mama bear in his second-in-command's presence. Spock, on the other hand, has been looking decidedly long-suffering since the announcement of his popularity.

Head Nurse Christine Chapel breezes by their little group. "Don't mind Dr. McCoy," she advises the patient. "He's been complaining every day for the past two weeks." She gives Leonard a look that warns him to bite his tongue. "It wasn't an actual popularity contest."

Leonard harrumphs again and puts his back to Chapel on purpose, only to hear her claim, "Leonard could have won."

He turns around. "You're damn right I could have!"

Christine blinks at him questioningly.

M'Benga comms the main ward. "Nurse Chapel, you're needed in Surgery One."

Chapel swallows whatever question she might have asked and hurries away.

Leonard sighs through his nose and gives his attention back to his patient. Soon he is lowering her arm to her lap and patting her shoulder with the announcement, "All done. Sofia will wrap this arm for you. Keep the bandage on to protect the skin while the cells finish the rest of the healing." He considers her. "How do you feel?"

"Relieved." The lieutenant ducks her head with a grateful smile. "Thank you for distracting me, Doctor."

"Just doin' my job," Leonard replies. He allows Nurse Valente to take over, busying himself with cleaning up the instruments left on the tray by the bed.

"The doctor's as nice as Mr. Spock. It wouldn't have been so bad if they had tied."

Leonard hides a grin. "Thank you, Lin."

"Sir?"

An odd little moment of confusion occurs before he asserts to the two women, "I guess an old country doctor like me still has a chance!"

"Of course we like you, Dr. McCoy," Sofia assures him. "Now shoo shoo, Lt. Chang is my patient!"

Leonard bows like a gentleman and goes to attend someone else.

* * *

At first, he thinks nothing of the unexpected compliments. He's simply having a good day because a handful of people seem appreciative of him.

Then the next day there are more compliments. And the next.

He starts paying attention to the fact that they are made off-hand and never to his face. Strange, he thinks. If you're going to pay someone a compliment, why not meet that person's eyes so he knows you're sincere?

Leonard's mulling over this on his way from lunch back to the med bay when an ensign approaches him at the waiting area for that deck's turbolift. Their eyes meet briefly as the ensign looks him over and says, "That color blue suits him."

Him, the ensign means, as in the only other person standing there, wearing a medical blue tunic.

But Leonard isn't having a problem with that tiny fact at all. No, he's staring openly at his neighbor because _the man's mouth had not moved._

Leonard blinks at the impossibility, gives his head a shake and feebly touches the corner of his own mouth before asking tentatively, "Did you say something?"

The ensign replies, "No, sir."

"Oh." Leonard turns to face the closed shaft door of the lift, his hand feeling numbly in front of him for the call button along the wall.

It's a slow, slow ride to Sickbay. By the time Leonard arrives at his destination, he also learns that the ensign likes his hairstyle so much that he's going to try it out for himself.

And all the while, the ensign never speaks a word out loud.

* * *

A psychosis, McCoy surmises. He's suffering from a malfunction of the brain which presents itself as the perceived ability to read minds.

Following a slew of after-hours cranial tests and a called-in favor from the ship's resident psychologist, the good news is that Leonard isn't actually out of his mind. The bad news is that he's gone from a psy-null esper rating to "better than average" on a quotient scale not commonly associated with Terrans. Helen Noel wants to put him through more rigorous tests to determine the exact nature of this psionic potential. Leonard declines.

That night Leonard wakes up in a cold sweat from a nightmare where Spock's bearded counterpart rearranges the chemistry of his brain so he can also tear open people's minds. He's almost terrified to leave his quarters in the morning, but thankfully nothing seems changed about this strange ability of his.

The cafeteria lady who watches him fumble with the replicator's menu at the head of the breakfast line thinks, _Dr. McCoy is much more comely than my first husband._

Leonard tells the officer in line behind him, "Breakfast's on me," leaving her to help herself to whatever the replicator is concocting off his meal card, and avoids that mess hall for the rest of the day. He spends most of that time contemplating the disappointment he sensed from his admirer as he left in a hurry as well as the gratitude from the recipient of his generosity.

So little by little, McCoy becomes more accustomed to being sidelined by someone's errant thought or impression of him. That is when he finally realizes he does not read minds in the textbook sense. He discerns what others think and feel as it relates _only_ to him.

The memory of the Domina's chant awakens, then: he will hear truly, feel truly.

Just what, exactly, has been done to him?

* * *

"Think something bad about me," Leonard orders Chapel the next day.

Christine is already looking at him askance because he has barged in on the middle of an inventory count in the storage room without offering to help.

"Something mean," he insists.

"How could I do that?" his head nurse wants to know.

Leonard purses his mouth. "Fine, not _mean_. Practical, in the negative sense. Don't I annoy you sometimes?"

"Annoying is definitely a word I would use to describe you right now," Chapel retorts. "Also, obnoxious, disappointing, and shameless."

He blinks. "Did you just think all that?"

"No," she replies dryly, "I said it."

"Oh." Leonard notices the overcrowded storage room for the first time. "Should I help?"

"There you go," the woman applauds Leonard, handing him a data padd. "Start on the first aisle." _Not as thick-headed as some,_ she thinks after he turns his back.

Appropriately chastened, Leonard hunches his shoulders and heads to his assigned aisle, staying put there for some time.

* * *

A week passes in full, and Leonard puts his mind back on what matters: the ship's business. He can't stand around all day like a man waiting for an axe to fall in the form of a fluffy remark about his winsome personality.

Truthfully, he finds that part the most ironic. It isn't easy as one might think to play the grouch, and Leonard has always considered himself the best at it. But even when he's deliberately terrifying patients into using their common sense more often, they run out of Sickbay thinking that he cares about them. Worse yet, some of his own staff patiently wait for those moments he yells at them so they can yell back.

This gift of the Domina's is shedding a light on things that Leonard doesn't want to know about.

With that irritation on his mind, he heads up to the Bridge for a long overdue visit. There is someone there he can needle who will respond appropriately.

Or so he hopes.

On the Bridge, Uhura glances up at his arrival and muses, _Leonard needs a worthy date for the Ball,_ like she is keen on trying her hand at matchmaking.

Leonard reaches the Science station in record time and challenges hurriedly to its hunched-over officer, "I suppose you don't have anything nice to say!"

Spock doesn't deign to turn around. "Another time, Doctor. This globular cluster will only be visible for fourteen point ninety-six minutes."

Leonard sags against the control panel in relief.

"Bones," he hears, and abandons the star-charting Vulcan for the man at the heart of the Bridge.

"I haven't seen you around lately," his captain comments.

Leonard acknowledges, "I know," and puts his worries aside for the time being. "So tell me what I've missed, Jim-boy."

* * *

It occurs to Leonard later that Spock is likely the only person on the ship who can help him understand what's going on with his brain. As ironic as he finds that thought, it spurs him to seek out the Vulcan after the day's beta shift has ended. Of course, loitering in the corridor outside Spock's quarters isn't quite the final step to engaging in a non-panicked, comfortable conversation with Spock about mind-reading.

By the time McCoy begins to recognize the same crewmen who have passed by and given him strange looks (or looks that simply read _why are you still here?_ ), he figures he is never going to be fully prepared to broach such an awkward subject. He presses the buzzer on the wall.

"Dr. McCoy, please enter," Spock answers instantly, like he has known all along that Leonard has been standing outside the closed door.

Ensconced behind his computer desk, Spock sets aside a data padd once Leonard is inside the main cabin and braces his elbows on his chair arms, steepling his fingers. "What brings you here, Doctor?"

Leonard locks his hands behind his back and resists the urge to bounce on the balls of his feet. "Can't a man stop by to say hello to a friend?"

Both of the Vulcan's eyebrows lift towards his hairline.

"I mean, that is, I don't really need a reason to see you... do I?" Leonard winces internally and curses his mouth, which seems to have forgotten it needs his consent to say such things.

Spock, however, takes this sentiment in good charity, for he says, "You are welcome to visit me at any time, Dr. McCoy."

"Thanks," he murmurs.

Spock looks at him for a moment longer in silence before rising gracefully from his chair. As he heads toward the replicator built into the far wall, he asks Leonard, "Is there a particular beverage you prefer?"

Whiskey straight from the bottle, maybe. Then his mouth might really start to run. "Whatever you're having is fine."

Spock pauses to consider him again. "I was intending to prepare a tea commonly consumed on Vulcan. It may not be to your tastes, Doctor."

"Won't know 'til we try," he counters and takes a seat by the desk.

Without further comment, Spock prepares two cups of this specialty tea and presents one to his guest. Leonard waits until Spock is seated again before he sticks his nose over the mug and inhales. Tea is hardly his drink of preference unless it's cold and sweet, and even then he's not one to overly indulge. He likes his coffee and his nightcap and sometimes, if the situation calls for it, a glass of wine.

He has to inhale again because this drink smells like a dark-brewed coffee. With spice. Is there such a thing? He supposes he is going to find out.

Leonard takes his first sip, then stares into the cup. "What's in this?"

Spock lists about a half-dozen ingredients.

"I've never heard of any of that."

"Of course not," demurs the Vulcan. "I did try to impress upon you that the flavor would be... unusual to your senses."

Leonard takes a second sip and tries not to lick his lips. "It's good. _Really_ good. Where can I buy it?"

"Buy it?" Spock repeats slowly.

"You didn't use the replicator to make it, so I assume you have a stash of tea bags in that cabinet back there." Leonard eyes his companion. "If I want some for myself, where do I purchase this... Vulcan tea?"

"Here," comes the immediate response, and for a nanosecond, Leonard could have sworn Spock's voice cracked on the word.

He sits back, lowering the mug. "I can buy it from you?"

"Negative." Spock adds after the slightest pause, "I would be pleased to share my personal supply with you, if that would be amenable."

Leonard's brain works through that suggestion a little too quickly. Spock is offering—no, manuevering—him into a reason for future visits. "You're not going to tell me the name of this tea, are you?"

Silence meets his conclusion.

Damn sneaky Vulcan. "I accept," Leonard says with a tiny thrill.

"Then perhaps, Dr. McCoy, we can proceed to your original motivation for seeking me out."

"Well, I—" Leonard begins, only to stop at a sudden realization.

Sitting across from him, Spock is his usual unreadable self. Leonard hasn't heard a single thing from him that wasn't spoken aloud.

He places his tea aside on the desk and leans in, as though by straining forward Spock's thoughts will come forth and present themselves.

Spock cocks his head. "Doctor?"

"Shush!" Leonard concentrates very hard.

Still nothing. But surely they were playing nice a moment ago. Spock couldn't have had a thought that _didn't_ involve him.

"Dr. McCoy."

Okay, so maybe Spock wouldn't be the type to spend his time mentally praising Leonard's character, but there had to have been some fondness, some stray acknowledgment of Leonard. By god, he certainly said enough to embarrass himself, calling them friends and agreeing to tea dates.

Spock says at last, "Leonard, I find your lack of response concerning. Are you well?"

Leonard blinks, then, and eases back. A flush begins to creep up his neck. "You must be concerned to use my given name."

Spock merely stares at him.

"All right, sorry," he apologizes with a sigh. "I was... distracted. Trying to figure something out. About you."

One of the Vulcan's eyebrows goes up. "I would appreciate further explanation."

So would Leonard. "Let's try an experiment."

"The hypothesis?"

Clearing his throat, Leonard says, "A human—like myself—can read your mind."

The other eyebrow joins its twin. "That is a most alarming hypothesis."

"Humor me, hobgoblin," Leonard grumps. Then he adds somewhat bashfully, "If you can, think something... nice... about me."

Spock doesn't react right away, other than almost absentmindedly setting his mug of tea beside Leonard's. Once he mimics the position with which he had initially greeted Leonard—elbows braced, fingers steepled, gaze calmly scrutinizing—Leonard's heart begins to pound.

This is a bad idea. A _terrible_ idea. Spock isn't going to play along, probably can't because Leonard has asked the impossible of him, and finally— _finally_ —Leonard is going to know the answer to a question he hasn't yet found the courage to ask.

Just as he wonders what he has done to Spock, to their friendship, to his own heart, Spock's eyelids fall to half-mast—

—and the faintest sensation of a caress has Leonard almost jumping in his chair. Physically separated by the desk, they haven't touched. Spock is so still, expression impassive, it's like his soul might have decided to vacate his body.

Yet the caress comes again, lasts longer, and afterwards leaves Leonard open like a live wire.

Spock's mind must be impressively shielded. Though Leonard senses it now, it's akin to meeting a politely unyielding wall. The thoughts therein are still safely guarded against intruders. Whether Spock is thinking about some part of Leonard that appeals to him, or he's simply contemplating the audaciousness of Leonard's request, Leonard does not know.

But Spock is a presence now, and strangely enough Leonard is relieved.

"Has the experiment succeeded?" asks Spock, breaking the silence between them. "Do you know my thoughts, Doctor?"

"No," Leonard replies, "but I'm certain they're pleasant."

"Based on what assumption?"

"That you're supposed to be thinking about me," he jokes, because all of a sudden he has the fiercest desire _not_ to tell Spock about his recent escapades into the realm of the telepathic. No, if Spock knows, Leonard could lose the opportunity to find out what exists behind that wall, what Spock actually thinks of him.

And that matters to Leonard.

Spock doesn't appear moved by the teasing, instead releasing his fingers and considering his companion with more levity than before. "I believe I should ask again: what is your reason for visiting me, Dr. McCoy?" His dark eyes seem to insist, _What do you want to know?_

Time to start backpedaling, thinks Leonard. When Spock's interest in something turns serious, he generally doesn't stop short of an interrogation. A Vulcan can ask the same questions for _days_.

Leonard gathers himself and lifts up from his chair. "Oh, no particular reason," he explains casually. "I had no desire to go straight to my quarters, and Jim and I just shared a drink yesterday." Offering a guileless smile, he imparts, "You've been a very agreeable host, Mr. Spock, thank you," and heads for the door, tossing over his shoulder, "I'll come back for more of that tea soon."

Too late, Spock tries following him to the door, mayhap to delay his departure.

Leonard exhales gustily when the door slides closed at his back.

In the back of his mind, he starts plotting. How does one breach a wall formed from a Vulcan's iron will?

* * *

Just to be on the safe side, Leonard avoids Spock for an entire day and then shows up at the Officer's Mess like nothing could possibly be out of the ordinary the following morning. As he surmised, Spock is already seated at a table, quietly and efficiently consuming the standard breakfast fare for a Vulcan.

With his own meal tray in hand, Leonard starts to take up his usual position across from Spock, then has a change of mind. Spock continues eating wordlessly, despite the doctor unexpectedly plopping into the seat beside him.

Leonard busies himself rearranging the items on his tray while he concentrates on flexing this new mental muscle at Spock. Distantly he picks up someone else in the hall thinking, _Dr. McCoy looks cute today!_

He freezes, then swings around and glares at large at the occupants in the room. "Cute, my sainted aunt," he growls under his breath, facing forward again.

No other nice thoughts come his way for a while, which is unfortunate because it also means he isn't succeeding in picking up Spock's thoughts. He can still feel the presence of the Vulcan's mind, though, just a tad more clearly than he anticipated.

He scoots a little closer to Spock's side.

Spock seems to think that is an invitation to start a conversation. "Greetings, Dr. McCoy. Is your morning proceeding well?"

"Yes, thanks for asking." Scoot, scoot, until he's just at the edge of the Vulcan's personal space bubble. "And how're you doing? Well rested?"

"I am functioning optimally," Spock intones before pausing. "I shall consider a period of rest this evening."

Leonard's spoon of grits halts midway to his mouth. He narrows his eyes. "That reminds me. An evaluation of your sleep cycles is overdue."

Spock glances at him. "I assumed your declaration to monitor my sleeping habits was a threat, Doctor, not a genuine intention."

"Bones never threatens without the intention of delivering. You ought to know that by now, Mr. Spock."

"Morning, Jim," Leonard greets his captain, Spock's "Captain" not far behind.

"Bones, Spock." Jim takes the seat across the table that Leonard left unoccupied. "Up and ready for the day, I see." He says somewhat ruefully, "I required a little more self-motivation than usual."

Distracted from baiting Spock, Leonard makes a quick assessment of the food on Jim's breakfast tray and grunts his approval. "That's because you're even worse than Spock about keeping a routine bedtime."

Unfazed, Kirk stirs a packet of sugar into his cup of coffee. "How am I worse? I managed to fall asleep."

"Bah! Given the look of you, a two-hour nap hardly qualifies as sleep. At least Spock is aware of his body's limitations and abides by them!"

"Why, thank you, Doctor."

"Bones..." Jim sighs. "Fine. If I can't sleep tonight, I'll call you over to knock me out."

"Good. I've got just the right hook that'll do it."

Jim drops his sugar packet and covers his mouth, trying to stifle laughter. Spock, on the other hand, looks mildly horrified.

"A joke, Spock," Leonard explains with a roll of his eyes. "I was joking."

Spock says firmly, "I should hope so."

"Call off your Vulcan," McCoy complains to Kirk.

As Jim's gaze turns to Spock, a swell of fondness washes over Leonard.

This time, he nearly drops his spoon. Jim looking fondly at his second-in-command isn't surprising but the fact that Leonard can sense it is. What's happening? Is his power expanding to encompass emotions focused at others?

That thought does frighten him into letting go of the utensil. The wrong end of the spoon sinks into his grits. He stares at it dumbly.

"Bones?"

"What?" Leonard looks up to find Jim holding out a napkin. He takes it sheepishly, plucking his spoon out of the bowl and wiping it down. "Don't mind me," he says. "Just making a mess."

Jim remarks, "Would you feel better if I told you this isn't my first cup of coffee of the day, but it is the only one I haven't spilled on my uniform?"

Leonard grins. "Yeah, it would."

Spock blinks placidly. "Fortunately I have no incident of clumsiness to share."

Jim and Leonard burst out laughing.

Spock returns to his meal with the air of one who is pleased.

"And you say Vulcans have no sense of humor," Leonard teases. He leans in, wagging a finger at the man next to him. "We've caught on to your ways, Mr. Spock!"

"I see no reason for an insult."

Leonard makes a show of scooting in very close to Spock this time. "Oh, you haven't heard an insult yet, but I can certainly think up one real quick to oblige you."

Spock retorts, "I am at your mercy, Doctor," which must be the Vulcan way of challenging an opponent.

This is why Leonard comes to breakfast in the mornings instead of subsisting on coffee until lunchtime. An half-hour of banter with Spock does wonders for a man's spirit.

Appreciation touches Leonard's mind, there and gone. Startled, he looks around to find out who could project that much _warmth_ through such a simple sentiment. Spock's ever-present shield around his mind hasn't once wavered so it clearly isn't him.

Across the table, Jim has his focus on his food, eating. At the next table, no one is thinking of Leonard at all. Farther away, the Chief Engineer is in his full glory, leaking little star-bursts of excitement while he gossips with some of his staff about a rumor of a new starship design that could streamline the connection between the nacelles and the warp engine.

Disappointed, Leonard withdraws from Spock's personal space to return to his forgotten meal.

Jim glances up, his gaze casually flicking from Leonard to Spock, as if puzzling out why they aren't arguing anymore.

Leonard says for both Spock and Jim's benefit, "I'll take a raincheck on those insults. My grits are goin' cold."

Jim smiles slightly, and the warmth returns.

Leonard manages not to drop his spoon a second time.

It was Jim. Even without thinking it directly, Jim feels appreciative of Leonard's closeness with Spock.

"Jim," Leonard begins.

Kirk raises his eyebrows in question. "Bones?"

Leonard swallows his surprise. "Less coffee, more food."

"Yes, Bones," the ship's captain agrees, setting aside his cup as a gesture of obeying his physician.

The warmth changes to something softer, an emotion Leonard cannot quite pinpoint without having experienced it in its rawest form. Then the sensation fades altogether, and a companionable breakfast between the three men is resumed.

By the end of the meal, Leonard is the only one left to linger at the table before heading to duty. He's there alone because he wants the time to think.

He doesn't hear Spock's thoughts, but that is explainable, given the Vulcan's natural talent and particular physiology. Yet other than pleasant but vague emotions, he hasn't heard a peep directly from Jim's mind either.

What does that mean?

* * *

When comparing the mysteries fairly, Spock might present an interesting challenge but Jim is a blip.

Leonard is about ninety-nine percent certain that Kirk cares about him, because otherwise they couldn't be close friends and confidantes when also superior and subordinate. Jim is the one who shows his caring most often, tactilely through a one-armed hug, a hand to the back, or touch to the shoulder. Moreover, Jim is wired to say what he means without embellishment, whether that statement may be an emotionally charged _I need you_ or a firm _Of course we're still friends, Bones_.

Why, then, does Jim have no particular thoughts concerning Leonard that Leonard can read? There exists no mental shield to dissuade an intrusion, and the strong friendship between them lends the makings for an occasional complimentary thought, however idly made.

This is a puzzle that has McCoy stumped. Though he is inundated daily now with embarrassing opinions about his blue eyes, mass approval for the short-sleeved uniform baring his forearms, and a persistent attraction to his Southern drawl, he hasn't encountered a single unspoken opinion from the man who has known him the longest and frankly knows him best. Jim may not consider him in the romantic light that some of the others aboard the ship do, but surely that doesn't mean Jim doesn't think of him kindly at all.

Which leads Leonard to believe the lack of thought must be intentional.

And that makes him wonder what type of thoughts Jim Kirk, of all people, would decide have to be hidden from his best friend.

* * *

Truth be told, sometimes Leonard McCoy doesn't know when to quit.

Jim corners him in the locker room by the gymnasium with the demand, "Bones, what is this?"

Leonard plays dumb. "Don't know what you mean, Jim. I came to work out."

Kirk eyes the medical scrubs Leonard is still wearing from an afternoon surgery that Leonard had handed over to his assistant CMO as soon as possible in order to track down the object of his present mission. Kirk's expression clearly reads, _If you had changed, I might believe you._

Leonard cranes his neck around Jim. "Is that Giotto hailing you?" When Jim takes the bait, Leonard dives under the man's arm.

Kirk catches him by the back of the collar and drags him backward into an unoccupied changing room. As the man starts to close the door, "Jim," Leonard cries, aghast, "don't you dare! You know what kind of rumors will fly if you shut that!"

Jim gives him a hard stare but relents nonetheless, leaving the door partially open. "All right, mister," he says then in that tone Leonard knows to mean someone is in trouble. "I want an explanation."

"For following you to your workout?" Leonard hedges.

Kirk crosses his arms over his chest. "For following me everywhere. Since when have you had an interest in the quantum physics associated with warp engineering?"

For a man so in love with his craft, Leonard doesn't know how Scotty can be so _boring_. "I had no idea you were headed to the Engineering symposium," he murmurs.

"I attend every quarter," Jim states flatly.

"Since you're one of the only non-engineers who didn't fall asleep in ten minutes, you must have liked it."

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not," argues Leonard. "I'm curious. Do you go to Spock's Science seminars too?"

Jim frowns at him but answers readily enough, "Of course."

Leonard thinks about that. "And I know you attend the Medical ones." The conclusion is inevitable. "Jim, wait a minute, are you telling me you go to _all_ our officers' presentations?"

Jim uncrosses his arms. "They're educational."

Leonard jabs a finger at the man. "No wonder you don't get any damn sleep!"

"We're not discussing my sleeping schedule," Kirk fires back.

"The hell we are!" Leonard rocks on his heels, pursing his mouth with displeasure. "By god, I don't know what to do with you. Don't you think captaining a ship is enough work for one man?"

Kirk stiffens. "Being the captain is precisely why I attend every lecture, Dr. McCoy. I'm supporting my crew."

"Your crewmen won't be disappointed if you take a night off every now and then. In fact, now that I know this," Leonard informs Jim grimly, "I'll have to report it."

Jim freezes, saying, "You wouldn't."

"Spock's gotta know."

"Bones, you can't."

"Oh, I _can_." Leonard lifts his chin and indicates the door behind Kirk. "Unless you step aside. Then I might, say, suffer a temporary memory loss about this conversation."

Jim presses his mouth flat in dismay, yet considers Leonard with something akin to respect. "You would blackmail your captain."

"Damn right I would," grins Leonard. He locks his hands behind his back and bounces once on the balls of his feet. "Just imagine the tizzy Spock will fly into. First, he'll have to interrogate you, then chart out all the events you attended since the very first day the Enterprise left dock under your command and, don't forget," he adds gleefully, "following that up with a very detailed, very lengthy presentation to you of his analysis on why your actions are foolish, unnecessary, and _illogical_ for a man in your position."

"Bones," Jim says faintly, "stop."

Leonard takes pity on him. "Choice is yours, Jim."

Jim steps aside.

Leonard breezes past, stepping out of the changing room and feeling like quite a winner.

"McCoy," Kirk calls just before Leonard reaches the exit to the locker room.

Leonard glances back.

"We're not done with this conversation," the man warns him.

Leonard hurries out before Jim decides to follow him.

Later, chewing over the day's events in the privacy of his office, Leonard acknowledges that the worst-case scenario might be at play: Jim simply doesn't give time to thinking deeply about him. His feelings for Leonard exist only at the surface.

It surprises him how much that conclusion hurts.

He turns to his desk intercom and contacts Chapel. "How far behind in the requisition reviews am I?"

"It's embarrassing to say out loud," Christine informs him.

"Then I'd better get started, Nurse. Bring them all."

He can pray that working until there isn't enough energy to think will keep his unhappiness at bay.

* * *

Kirk comes to him, whether by happenstance or by purposely seeking him out, in the Rec Room lounge where he has nursed a single-malt scotch alone for the better part of an evening.

"Is this seat taken?" his friend asks, placing a hand on the empty chair next to Leonard at the bar.

"Knock yourself out," Leonard murmurs.

Jim slides into the seat and eyes the drink station at the far end. "I didn't think you indulged in the replicated variety."

"Sometimes a man's got to take what he can get."

Jim looks at the scotch in Leonard's hand. "Is that why you still have a full glass?"

Leonard eyes his captain. "How long have you been watching me?"

Jim takes the glass from him. "Long enough to know you won't finish this." He makes a face after one sip. "That's awful."

Leonard sighs. "I know."

Jim glances away. "What's on your mind, Bones?"

"Oh, this and that. Did you know, I'm pretty popular on this ship."

Jim turns back to him, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "Is that the reason—? Bones, I told you that contest wasn't to be taken seriously. It was for _morale._ "

"I'll have you know," Leonard retorts with a bit of heat, "I could have beaten Spock if he didn't have half the ship's officers assigned to him. I definitely know that now!"

Kirk grabs his arm. "Are you drunk?"

McCoy sobers. "No. I'm psychic."

"Come on." Jim tugs Leonard off his stool. "You're going to sleep this off in your quarters."

Leonard plants his feet to make it more difficult for Jim to budge him. "I'm not drunk, Jim."

"Bones..." A muscle ticks in Kirk's jaw. "I'm not asking."

Leonard chuckles darkly. "Guess you aren't liking me very much right now—not that I can ever tell when you _do_ like me."

His empathic senses go haywire as emotion crashes into him like a shockwave. Jim feels, deeply _feels_ , in response to that statement. He's insulted by the insinuation that he could not like Leonard, _appreciate Leonard_ , because he—because—b-because—

The thought stutters to stop suddenly while Jim silently stares at him, only to complete itself a heartbeat later:

Because he loves Leonard.

The man in question staggers back quite literally, and intensity of the confession dies down yet is still present.

As Jim reaches for Leonard, questioning sharply, "Bones?", Leonard can only manage, "I f-forgot."

An awkward pause ensues as the excuse falters, and Jim's hand stills before touching him.

Leonard finishes weakly, "An appointment. Sorry, Jim."

In his hurry to escape, Leonard bumps right into the figure stepping out of the turbolift on the upper deck of the Rec Room, the other person he desperately doesn't want to deal with in that moment.

Spock catches Leonard by the arms just as Leonard tetters backward. In concert, the usual hazy mental awareness of the Vulcan sharpens with unexpected clarity, as though jolted to life by the skin-to-skin contact. Leonard becomes privy to revelation after revelation like an organized line of marching ants: Spock is concerned by Leonard's pale face; Spock is also concerned that Jim, standing at the lounge's entrance, gazing at them, appears unhappy; Spock feels protective over them both. He believes if they are at odds, it is his duty to soothe them.

Encompassing this complex thinking is Spock's awareness that his concern, desire to protect, to soothe, results from his affection for the humans.

 _It is logical to acknowledge love._

Leonard's brain fizzles out like an overloaded light bulb. Sputtering, he jerks out of Spock's grasp and dives for the turbolift, deaf to the Vulcan's alarmed "Doctor?"

When the door slides shut, McCoy stands alone and trembling. "Oh boy," he whispers before slumping back against the lift's wall.

The Domina's gift is not a gift at all. She has cursed him, a man who is too cowardly to express his own feelings. From now on, Leonard must live with knowing that his love for his shipmates could have been returned.

* * *

 **Somehow I'm not surprised I could not finish this in one chapter. Probably because we have a pining Triumvirate on our hands? :)**


	2. Part Two

Down the inclined corridor, left by the door to the engine chamber, and straight on 'til the deck's abrupt end. That's where Leonard finds himself, seated on the top of a large sealed cargo container listening to the subtle thrum produced by warp engines on standby.

"Here."

A jug appears in Leonard's peripheral vision. He considers it dubiously. "What's that for?"

"In my experience," reckons Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott, "a crewman doesn't ask another crewman to hide him from his captain unless he's done something highly inappropriate—"

"I haven't done anything," grumbles McCoy.

"—and the only thing one of us could do to shake up a level-headed man like Capt'n Kirk," Scott goes on blithely, "is to upset _Mr. Spock._ " He pauses as if for effect. "Or you, Dr. McCoy, but now it wouldnae make sense if you had upset yourself."

Leonard drawls wryly, "That's not too far from the truth."

The man looks at him with interest.

"I'll take that drink," he says in lieu of explaining further.

The engineer accepts the diversion amiably enough, pouring them both a cup from the jug.

Leonard's eyes water after the first sip. "Whew," he whistles, "that'll put hairs on a man's chest."

"Made it myself," Scott claims proudly. "I knew ye had a fine palate for the spirits."

"I didn't think it was legal to make this stuff aboard a starship."

"A man's got to keep his hobbies alive somehow, Doctor."

Leonard nods his agreement. They drink together in silence until Scott lifts his cup to his mouth for the third time but after a moment lowers the drink untouched. "Ye need a date for that dance?"

Leonard chokes on his mouthful, spurring Scott to whack his back until he turns a teary-eyed glare on the man in warning to stop. "I don't have a date yet if that's what you're asking."

"Aye, me neither."

"Don't know if I want one," he adds in more of a murmur. Frankly Leonard is no longer certain how he can attend the Sweetheart Ball with someone, friend or otherwise, now that he knows—

He shuts down that line of thinking with a flare of panic. Be careful, he chastises himself. God knows who else might have also developed an unexpected ability to read minds.

Montgomery Scott doesn't seem to be in that category, though. In fact, thinks Leonard, eyeing Scott, he looks like a man troubled by his own problems.

"Is there someone particular you want to go with?" Leonard asks.

"Well..." Scotty glances at him, oddly shy. "Do you suppose... if there's _two_ people a man is keen on asking, it would be possible to take both?"

Oh lord. Maybe Scotty _does_ know something of Leonard's trouble. McCoy takes a moment to gather his wits. "I would think the answer depends on whom you mean to ask."

"Lt. Romaine," Scott supplies promptly, and then in a more hopeful manner, "...and Lt. Uhura?" At the shocked silence, the engineer moans, "I know, it's not _reasonable_. They're lovely lasses, equally attractive, each talented in her own way. Why should they agree to a date?"

"That's not fair," Leonard argues. "Unless Romaine and Uhura are already taken or they just don't like each other, why can't y'all go together? For god's sake, no one is that narrow-minded these days, Scotty."

"I wasn't talking about the multi-partner part, Doctor," Scotty protests mournfully. He indicates himself, looking pained.

Dismayed, Leonard purses his mouth. "The only way you can't be good enough to escort two beautiful women to that Ball is if you truly believe you aren't good enough."

"But..."

"Now listen here," he snaps, angry only because the conversation is beginning to hit a little too close to home, "I won't have any more of this pity talk. Ask 'em or don't, but either way it's time you stopped using yourself as an excuse to be miserable."

Scott adopts a wide-eyed look. "When you put it like that, I feel like an idiot."

Leonard harrumphs.

"Then what are you planning to do?" his companion inquiries innocently.

"Do?" Leonard echoes, startled.

"About your own date?"

Leonard stares at the man for a long time before deciding, "You might be too smart for your own good."

"Aye," says Scott simply.

Leonard sighs. "Forget the cup. Just give me the damn jug."

The man offers a refill of the homemade brew with a hint of sympathy, then raises his cup and chinks it against Leonard's. "To courage," he toasts.

"Courage," mutters Leonard, and drinks.

* * *

A person can't disappear forever on a starship of over four hundred people. McCoy is rousted from his hideaway by the arrival of three 'lads', off-duty Engineering staff who appear to have a sixth sense for knowing where to find free liquor. The men set about wheedling with their boss to share his prized distillation with them. McCoy, having no desire to witness what a group of drunk engineers can get up to in the bowels of a starship, excuses himself from the little party right after issuing a firm warning to the excited bunch not to make a mess of the Enterprise or themselves.

In the softened lighting that marks the night shift, Leonard ambles to his quarters feeling more relaxed than he has in a week. Whether that is courtesy of the moonshine furring his nerves or the effect of having an uncomplicated companionship with someone, he isn't inclined to ponder too long the driver behind his good mood. Forgetting to undress, he lays down on his bed and soon is asleep.

Hours later, the cabin chronometer's alarm rouses him by calling his name. He spends a little longer than usual in the bathroom preparing for the new day. Only once he's trekking a familiar route through the ship's corridors does Leonard concede that avoiding Jim and Spock is not in anyone's best interest. He may have learned their secrets, but they don't know that nor is he required to tell them.

Ignorance, for now, seems the best option.

With this mindset, Leonard ventures to the Officer's Mess and in short order has his standard breakfast fare and a seat at a table across from an already present Kirk and Spock.

Uncomfortable yet determined not to show it, Leonard attempts to converse with one of the two uncharacteristically subdued officers. He starts simply enough with "How's the coffee this morning, Jim?"

Glancing away from the cup in his hands, Kirk offers nothing more than the noncommittal grunt of a man not inclined to speak.

Leonard turns to Spock. "How are your..." He eyes the unappealing blobs on the officer's plate. "...nutrition cubes?"

"Sufficient," supplies Spock while dissecting a green cube.

Leonard's gaze drops briefly to his own plate. When he looks up again, he finds Spock watching him instead of eating.

After a few seconds of silence from the Vulcan, Leonard huffs and remarks, "Take a picture. It'll last longer."

Jim chokes on his coffee.

Spock blinks. "An image is worth a thousand words."

Now Kirk is hacking.

Leonard waves his fork in the air. "That's 'picture', Mr. Spock. A _picture_ is worth a thousand words."

"An image can be a picture, Doctor, and vice versa. I see no difference."

Leonard scowls and indicates himself. "Then consider what this image is telling you!"

Spock cocks his head. "Certainly it represents more than one thousand words. Shall I recite the list alphabetically?"

Leonard sits up a little straighter. He has always appreciated a challenge.

"Bones," Jim interrupts in warning, the first word the man has spoken aloud, before his glance cuts sharply sideways. "Spock, you might spare the others at this table."

Spock seems to weigh the suggestion thoroughly before resuming his meal with his usual air of dignity, as though he had not troubled himself only a moment ago with pestering Leonard.

Leonard's shoulders slope downwards in mild disappointment. Rallying a moment later, he purses his mouth as he stabs his fork into a lump of scrambled eggs.

Kirk sits back, sighing through his nose while his hands curl around his coffee mug. _Disaster averted,_ the man must be thinking.

All of a sudden, Leonard is less than pleased. At least someone had been willing to talk to him!

"Your turn," he tells Kirk.

Jim's gaze meets his. "What?"

"Your turn, Captain. If Spock and I can't have a civil conversation—"

Kirk's tone becomes amused. "Is that what you thought was about to happen?"

Leonard brings his fist down on the table, rattling some silverware and turning a few nearby heads. "Damn it, Jim, what's the matter with you this morning?"

Spock's spoon freezes midway to his mouth.

A thundercloud builds in Kirk's eyes, but his voice stays flat. "The matter with _me_ , Bones?"

"Yes, you, _Captain_."

"Gentlemen," their Vulcan companion tries to intervene.

Kirk's fingers whiten against his mug. "You appear to have the problem—unless you have another explanation for being so damn temperamental."

Leonard nearly jumps out of his seat. "Temperamental!"

"And loud," adds Jim.

Leonard grabs both sides of his tray to keep from reaching across the table to belt his captain. He grits his teeth, too, against all the words he would love to shout.

Jim eyes him in a way that means he is simply waiting for McCoy's temper to prove him right.

Leonard turns his stabbing gaze to a thin-lipped Spock. "Tell Captain Kirk a man who insults his physician is a fool."

Jim counters almost languidly, his eyes never leaving his opponent, "Mr. Spock, inform Dr. McCoy that a subordinate who insults his commanding officer is asking for a personal appointment to the brig."

Spock looks between them. "I will say neither of these things, as you both were capable of hearing them. I will apprise of you this, however: I do not have the time or inclination to support this petty argument." He rises from his place at the table, his tray in hand. "I shall take my leave."

"Wait!" Jim and Leonard cry together.

Leonard glances at Kirk before saying, duly chastened, "We're sorry."

"Extremely sorry," Jim adds, lifting a hand towards the standing Vulcan's arm but not quite making contact.

"You should apologize to each other," says Spock, but he sits down again.

Leonard sighs and looks to his best friend. "Sorry, Jim."

Jim nods. "Me too, Bones."

"Well, don't I feel like a heel," Leonard says, sighing again. "Spock, has anybody ever told you you'd make a great parent?"

Jim's tone turns dry. "I know I've told him that at least once."

Spock's eyebrow lift towards his hairline. "I fail to see the correlation."

Exaggerating his surprise, Leonard drawls, "You do? Why, hasn't your mother ever had to discipline you?"

"Of course not, Doctor."

Spock's answer is spoken so seriously that Leonard cracks up, further confusing the Vulcan by his reaction.

"Doctor?"

Jim hides his smile behind his mug and finally reaches for an eating utensil next to his untouched meal.

Taking that as a good sign, Leonard sobers himself and asks his captain, not for the first time, "So how's that coffee, Jim-boy?"

"Good," Jim replies before testing a spoonful of food.

"Here." Leonard scoops the remainder of his eggs onto the man's plate. "Try these. You could use the protein."

Kirk catches and holds his eyes for a second, all the confirmation Leonard needs to know that he is truly forgiven for his outburst.

Leonard settles back on his side of the table to find that, once again, Spock is studying him closely. This time Leonard pretends not to notice.

The sensation of warmth hits him unexpectedly but he manages to keep his reaction limited to missing his glass of orange juice when he reaches for it.

Jim reaches out, pushing the glass closer to Leonard, the warm feeling emitting from Jim not once faltering.

In so short a time, Leonard had forgotten why he has to be careful.

Come to think of it, there is something he can do for his friends that won't hurt them—or himself. He clears his throat and asks a question like it's an idle thought: "Got a date for the Sweetheart Ball?"

"I'm not going," Jim responds without breaking stride in the process of inhaling the eggs.

Spock's head turns sharply in their captain's direction.

Leonard can't blame Spock. If he didn't know Jim as well as he does, he would have been surprised by that answer too.

"You're going," Leonard says firmly.

Jim's gaze flicks toward McCoy, and the man sounds faintly annoyed. "I believe I'm old enough to make my own decisions, Bones."

"You're the captain." Leonard insists, "If you don't go, you might as well call the whole thing off."

"I don't _need_ to be at that dance. It's for crew morale."

"Captain, the morale of the crew is only as strong as its weakest member."

Leonard silently applauds Spock's point. "If it's the thought of too much exposure, keep the appearance brief, and—" He purposely does not look at Spock. "—take your First Officer."

Jim stills, then looks at Leonard sort of blankly.

"Spock," Leonard repeats for his friend's benefit. "He _is_ Mr. Popularity. What better date for a starship captain?"

Jim sets the tines of his fork against the edge of his plate. "I think there's a point about my captaincy somewhere in that remark."

"Don't know what you mean, Jim." Leonard smiles reassuringly at him. "Spock hasn't even vetoed the idea."

The two humans turn to consider the Vulcan.

Spock arches an eyebrow. "I am available to attend the event."

Jim looks momentarily surprised, as though he expected his second-in-command to have _some_ protest to the idea.

Leonard is under no such illusion. "It's decided, then. Spock, you can keep Jim from dancing his feet off with every pretty lady who asks for his hand. And, Jim... don't embarrass Spock."

Jim's gaze sharpens suddenly. "You're not going?"

Leonard resists the urge to hunker down under that stare. "No."

"Why not?"

The soft question, oddly, comes from the Vulcan.

"I'll be busy," Leonard murmurs. "Working the skeleton crew in the 'Bay."

He doesn't want to think about the glance Kirk exchanges with his First Officer.

"And speaking of work," Leonard declares more firmly, "I'm going to be late for an appointment if I don't skedaddle. See y'all."

Rather than give Jim more time to question his sudden decision not to attend the Sweetheart Ball, Leonard hurries off to the recycler across the cafeteria.

* * *

"Leonard _Horatio_ McCoy!"

The doctor freezes on instinct, despite having not been called upon in such a manner for many, many years.

And certainly never in space.

It's with part dread, part curiosity that Leonard dares to turn around and face the person angry enough to employ his full name.

Mouth pressed thin, eyes blazing, and hands on her hips, the head nurse of Sickbay fixes a stare upon her boss that Leonard's mother would have approved of.

Resisting the urge to respond like an erring son, he clears his throat and inquires politely, "Yes, Nurse?"

Chapel's gaze sharpens. "We need to talk."

"We do?"

"Yes, sir," she states with enough restraint to imply she is actually fuming.

Given that Christine Chapel is one of the few people on board who can match McCoy in temper when riled, Leonard begins to feel nervous. He surreptitiously wipes his hands against his pants as he decides, "My office," and heads in that direction. The prickling of unease worsens when Christine wordlessly catches up to him and meets him stride for stride.

Maybe he needs to break the tension? "I'm not going to run away," he jokes.

"You won't have the chance, sir," Chapel responds grimly.

Leonard wisely dispenses with the humor.

When they step into his office, he breathes deeply, just once, in an attempt to rally some of the authority of a senior officer. His breath peters out halfway through when Chapel, still standing in front of the door, says, "Dr. Noel and I had an interesting chat at breakfast."

Leonard tucks his hands under his arms and keeps his silence, knowing no matter how he responds, he will only sound defensive.

Chapel crosses her arms too. "This is your opportunity to explain."

"Nothing to explain," rejoins Leonard. "Whatever Helen said probably shouldn't have been said in the first place." He pauses, considers that. "Unless you've come to report her?"

The nurse's mouth thins even more. "Dr. McCoy, the only person I'm inclined to report at the moment is _you._ "

He balks at that. "For what?"

The fire in Christine's eyes intensifies. "How about failure to follow the regulatory documentation protocols when pursuing a diagnosis? Or exercising one's authority to use medical equipment _without_ the required minimum of staff in attendance!"

Chapel had obviously dug into their computer's event log after her early morning chat.

Leonard tries to stand his ground, to not let the accusations fluster him. "In this department, there's no higher authority than mine, Nurse Chapel."

"Holding the position of CMO doesn't make you an exception to the rules," she fires back. "Nor do we operate by one-man teams on this ship." The nurse's tone turns steely enough to make Leonard flinch. "You should have told us—one of us, _any_ of us."

"I did," he argues. "I went to Noel!"

"Only because as the ship's psychologist she has the clearance to independently confirm a medical evaluation."

"And offer a professional opinion," he emphasizes. "Christine, medically trained or not, no one on my staff including myself has the knowledge or experience necessary to analyze my current condition. All I would have done is give y'all a scare."

Christine takes a step toward him. "I'm scared right now, Leonard. What's happened to you?"

"More like what hasn't happened," he grouses and a moment later inevitably caves. "All right, I'll tell you everything—if you swear to forgive me."

"Of course I forgive you," Chapel says, suddenly returning to her normal state of calm. "Now let me help."

Sighing but feeling more at ease, he waves her towards an empty chair and takes the chair opposite it. When she places her hands on her knees and looks at him expectantly, he says, "It all began with the mission to Quirinus. I was tending the Domina, you see, when she made me as angry as a hornet—"

Christine closes her eyes. "I should have known. You didn't insult her, did you?"

"Well," he hedges, "I wouldn't say _insulted_..."

The nurse just shakes her head.

Leonard goes on, "We had an argument, which I won, and so this is her retribution."

"Which is?"

"Hearing people's thoughts. Feeling their emotions." He doesn't mention the last part of the Domina's spell, something about the value of life, not certain himself how or even if that will manifest.

Christine sits back in silence for some time. Then she asks, "What did I just think?"

Leonard blinks. "It wasn't very nice."

"Be more specific," Christine says with pointed politeness.

"Or it wasn't about me. I don't know which," he admits. "Apparently my curse is to learn good things about myself from other people."

Chapel stares. "I would call that a gift."

Leonard purses his mouth. "That's your opinion."

"Leonard," she muses, sounding troubled now, "what could have the Domina intended by making you like this?"

His shoulders slump. "Frankly I just want to know when it will stop." He thinks about Jim and Spock. "There are some thoughts a man should never be privy to."

The woman reaches for his hand. "Oh, Leonard." But she asks him, "Are you certain about that? If it's a secret in your favor, that is?"

"I don't know," he answers honestly. "I'm... confused."

She pats his hand before easing back. "Confusion is normal. Now, show me your test results. I know which equipment you used but not the specific scans."

"I tried every one I could," he says, reaching for a PADD stored in his desk drawer, "with the conclusion being the same: my brain is a mystery."

"We'll see about that," counters Chapel primly, then offers a faint smile. "Oh, and for your ease of mind, Helen didn't betray a single confidence. She only hinted that you were going through something alone which you shouldn't, and as a friend I would be wise to drag it out of you."

Words fail Leonard.

Chapel laughs softly, "I should have been an actress instead of a nurse," and takes the PADD hanging limply from McCoy's hand.

He sputters to life. "You tricked me!"

The nurse simply continues to smile. "Now that I know, consider your options. We can work on this mystery together, or I can take my concerns for your well-being to Captain Kirk."

McCoy's sputtering turns into choking. He manages after a moment, "First option."

Christine accepts his decision with a nod, activates the data padd, and Leonard scoots his chair next to her and leans in to explain the initial data set. Later, he promises himself, he will chastise Noel for her meddling.

Maybe he will.

* * *

Chapel impresses upon Leonard the need to record his encounters of the psychic kind. "We may eventually find a way to cure you," she insists, "but as you said, Doctor, our current expertise in this area is unfortunately subpar. The psychic sciences _are_ as relevant to medicine as they can be to the physical or psychological sciences. Think of this as an opportunity to study the possibilities of the human brain."

McCoy doesn't disagree with that logic, not at all; he simply finds it embarrassing to document the particulars of his encounters, such as who that day is admiring his eyes or thinks his Southern drawl is titillating.

Or, as of that moment, who might be working up the courage to ask him to the Sweetheart Ball.

He dodges the doe-eyed ensign on Deck Nine's corridor by making a blind turn into the nearest room. The room is actually laboratory whose occupants are bemused by the CMO's sudden appearance. When McCoy's brain starts working again, identifying _which_ department he has blundered into, luck would have it that he has a plausible excuse to be there.

He clears his throat and says, "I'm looking for a metallurgist."

"Lt. Chang or Lt. Hanson?" one of the lab techs wants to know.

"Chang," he clarifies.

The group points in tandem to the door of an adjoining room. Offering his gratitude, Leonard crosses the lab. The door slides open just before he reaches it.

No doubt surprised to see him, Lin greets him cordially nonetheless. "Good afternoon, Dr. McCoy."

"Ah, Lin—just the patient I came to see. Let's take a look at that arm."

The lieutenant covers her bandage on her arm with one hand. "What, now?"

"You can use Dr. Panke's office," another lieutenant volunteers. "He went to lunch."

"Thanks," Leonard says, touching Lin's elbow to guide her in that direction. "We won't be that long."

The woman protests as she walks with him, "But, sir, I already have a check-up scheduled with Dr. M'Benga."

Leonard hedges, "No need to be alarmed, Lin. Sometimes I make house calls when I happen to be in the neighborhood."

Lin eyes him with her usual shrewdness once the office door is closed and she has settled into a chair. "If I let you inspect my arm today, can I skip my appointment tomorrow?"

He drawls, "Not a chance."

Lin studies McCoy for a while longer before slowly extending her arm for his inspection. While he unwraps the bandage, she explains, "I'll oblige you because you seem in desperate need of an excuse for being here."

Leonard chokes but knows better than to defend his pretense.

"Who did you really come to see?" Lin wants to know.

"No one," Leonard assures her. "I made a wrong turn, is all."

"Mm-hm." She watches him work for a moment. "Well, what's the prognosis, Doc? Will I live?"

"I hope that was a joke."

 _He's pricklier than usual._

That's not the typical thought Leonard might hear about himself but perhaps because a mild fondness accompanies it, he picks up on Lin's unspoken observation.

The woman frowns down at her arm. "It may be lucky for me that you're here," she says. "I do have a question, although," she adds dryly, "I would have been perfectly willing to wait until the _appointed_ time to ask _Dr. M'Benga_."

"Fine, fine," he caves under the scolding. "I apologize for interrupting your work day."

"You're forgiven, sir." Lin lifts her arm from his grip. "When can I expect the discoloration to fade?"

"Give it a couple of weeks."

She sighs, "The Sweetheart Ball is in two days," then grimaces, stating, "I know this will sound vain but I wish I could look like myself."

He sympathizes with her concern. "There's nothing wrong with a little vanity, Lieutenant." Then he winks. "But if your date can't appreciate the fact you're still in the process of healing, you send him to me."

She smiles. "Thanks."

He re-wraps the bandage around her arm. "I suppose I'll take my leave now. Don't miss that appointment."

"Yes, Doctor."

Leonard offers his hand to help her out of the chair then bows like a gentleman, just the way his mother taught him.

"You know," Lin says as they move toward the office door, "the reason most people are excited about this event isn't because it seems romantic. We're just glad to have the chance to come together." She looks up at him. "Like a family."

"Family's important," he agrees.

Lin places a hand on his arm as the door picks up their presence and opens to reveal the lab. " _All_ family, Dr. McCoy." _It won't be the same without you._

His breath catches.

Lin nods slightly, then, as though satisfied that his expression is a sign that her message has been properly delivered. She raises a hand in farewell as she moves through the lab, calling back to him, "See you at the Ball!"

Leonard rejoins the foot traffic in the corridor, wondering just how long the crew of the Enterprise have concerned themselves with his happiness. They notice him, think about him, worry about him. He isn't as isolated because of his unpredictable temper as he always assumed.

He keeps his head tucked down as he steps in the middle of a group of officers occupying a turbolift, awash in a strong sentimentalism that makes tears stand in his eyes. Only after a moment's struggle can he compose himself sufficiently to pull his shoulders back and appear as usual.

* * *

Christine Chapel pokes her head around an opaque holographic wall acting as a privacy screen next to a biobed. "You have a visitor," she tells her boss.

"Does this visitor need medical treatment?" Leonard questions while adjusting his handheld neural scanner and waving it over the head of his patient.

Chapel blinks, turns to look over her shoulder before replying, "He says he is perfectly functional."

Leonard groans. "Then tell him to wait in my office."

"Yes, Doctor."

What could Spock possibly want, Leonard muses, that would justify him leaving his post in the middle of Bridge duty? Unfortunately, he believes he has some idea. And since Spock typically works more hours than anyone else on the ship, his captain, the fool, would never say no to a request for a short break. Leonard almost contacts Jim to make a fuss about that.

Then again, he made enough of a fuss at breakfast so it probably wouldn't be wise to tempt Kirk into another argument this soon.

A quarter of an hour later, he turns the patient over to a nurse to be outfitted with a cerebral monitor and heads across the bay at a quick trot. Spock is standing in the middle of the CMO's office, hands at his back, staring at a framed certificate on the wall. Leonard would bet one month's salary Spock has been staring at that thing for the duration of the wait while probably working on some unsolved complex mathematical theory in his head.

Maybe Leonard should perform a check-up on the Vulcan after all. That would certainly make _him_ feel more comfortable.

Spock acknowledges McCoy's entrance by turning his head. "Greetings, Dr. McCoy."

"Hello to you too, Commander." Leonard steps off the threshold of his office, allowing the automatic door to slide shut. "Is this visit personal or ship's business?"

"Personal."

Leonard had already guessed that but still inclines his head respectfully. "I'm listening."

"Perhaps you would care to sit down first?"

Leonard crosses his arm and rocks back on his heels. "What good will that do?"

Spock raises one questioning eyebrow.

He huffs. "If you're going to reprimand me for upsetting Jim, just get on with it."

"Fascinating. How have you come to such a conclusion?"

"Because I can count on one hand the personal matters that spur you to seek me out." He ticks off each point with a finger. "Jim's upset, that's one. You're confused about something Jim did, that's two. You might be experiencing some deadly biological imperative you can't talk about—oh wait, _not_ that one," he amends sardonically (sadly to which Spock refuses to react), "and last of all, your parents are coming back to visit and you wish to request that I restrain myself from wheedling more childhood stories out of your mother."

"The latter has never occurred."

Leonard grins. "Can you say it wouldn't if your parents were due to arrive?" Spock's silence is confirmation, but Leonard decides to ease up on his teasing. "What it really comes down to is our mutual friend. So, as I said, get on with it, Spock."

But Spock says of all things, "There is now a fourth scenario. I wish to try an experiment."

Leonard's heart thumps a bit erratically in his chest. He tells it not to be silly when Spock steps forward, reaching out to him.

The Vulcan's forward momentum ceases all of a sudden. "May I approach you?" Spock asks delicately, his arm still partially extended.

Leonard McCoy is quite a misfortunate man. He has a terminal case of curiosity.

After he nods his assent, Spock comes close enough that to touch him would require very little effort.

"What's this experiment about?" Leonard wants to know.

"An extension of that which was attempted not long ago in my quarters, Doctor. At that time, you believed you might read my mind, only, I presume, to fail at it. I propose we try again with slightly altered conditions."

The lump in Leonard's throat makes it difficult to speak. "I'm not going to read your mind, Spock."

"Interesting," muses the Vulcan, "that you have not said you cannot."

"W-what you are saying?" he stammers.

"You have read my mind." When Leonard is too shocked to respond, Spock clarifies, "Outside the entrance to the recreational room. I am certain of it."

"Spock..." Leonard begins, falters, and tries again. "Spock, you don't believe..."

"I felt you," Spock interrupts in a tone of voice warning him that the time for pretense is past.

Leonard can't think of what to say. He's been caught.

Spock lifts his hand again while Leonard watches. "The experiment, Doctor. With your permission, I will touch you now."

Leonard doesn't think it's going to do any good to try reading Spock when he can't even pull his own thoughts together. But he is still curious enough to pursue the opportunity and, moreover, less afraid than he should be of the outcome.

The look in Spock's eyes becomes sharper, more observant, the longer Leonard keeps his silence.

"Just... think normally," Leonard cautions him at last.

"Doctor," Spock replies evenly, "my thoughts are far from abnormal," and with that remark gently encircles Leonard's bare forearm with his hand.

The slight shock of Spock's cool skin coming in contact with his is quickly drowned out by the snap-like connection of their minds. Yet unlike before, there is nothing strange or foreign about the mind now laid open to Leonard's senses. It exists simply as a vast awareness extending around Leonard's, uncolored by thought or emotion. As Leonard begins exploring this vastness with childlike curiosity, so must Spock be studying him.

"What did you do?" Leonard asks, fascinated but also concerned. "It's not the same."

"The joining of minds should not be undertaken without care. This is the proper way for our minds to communicate, Doctor."

"But last time, I heard you—"

"There was no warning, therefore no preparation," Spock chides softly. "What information you perceived from me then was not intended to be shared."

Leonard starts at the accusation. "Spock, I... I had no idea. I didn't deliberately try to—" He's horrified at himself, because while it is true reading Spock's mind for the first time had been a shock to him (as, he feels now, it had surprised Spock), not long ago Leonard deliberately attempted to discover if he could reach Spock's mind. "I'm sorry," he says with a swell of grief. "I invaded your privacy. I'm sorry, Spock."

"You are forgiven. I must confess I am lately appreciative of the opportunity to be forthright about a matter which has concerned me for some time. In that vein, you suggested I accompany Jim to the crew's celebratory event. I recommend you accompany us."

He is too startled by the idea to respond.

The vastness suddenly shrinks, then winks into nothingness.

Leonard's senses are returned to the mundane world. Spock has broken their connection by releasing his arm. Leonard realizes only then they had not been speaking aloud.

The Vulcan looks at him with dark, troubled eyes. "The Domina. What role did she assume in the conception of your condition?"

"How did you guess it was her?"

"It is not a guess but a certainty, Doctor. As you have supposed, your newfound abilities are not natural. One might utilize the term 'contrived' to better describe their existence."

Leonard's eyebrows draw together. "Contrived? There's nothing contrived about a brain's function, Spock."

Spock is quiet for a moment, like he needs to work through how best to phrase his explanation. "In an individual for which extrasensory perception is natural, studies have shown that brain function is intricately tied to the process of developing, maintaining, and modulating that perception. In your case, your brain merely acts as a receptacle to process the information which is fed to you. You are mimicking a perception that by Terran standards is deemed extraordinary, Dr. McCoy, but I assure you, you are neither a telepath nor an empath."

Leonard slowly releases a breath he had not realized he was holding. "To borrow a phrase," he says, "fascinating. I thought the Domina had activated some latent gene in my makeup. Sure fooled me."

"Not always the most difficult of accomplishments," Spock states dryly. "Perhaps now that I have assuaged some of your apprehension, you will return the favor. What did the Domina do to you?"

Leonard tells him. When he's finished, Spock's conclusion surprises him. "'It cannot be magic'?" Leonard repeats. "Why not?"

"Magic is not a science, Doctor."

"Well now, how is that true? We don't know enough about magic to say what it is or it isn't."

" _Smoke and mirrors,_ " Spock quotes. "That which is seen is not necessarily what is."

Hearing an echo of the Domina's comment about deceptive appearances, Leonard shudders. "I'll argue that she did _something._ "

Spock sobers. "Affirmative. She is... connected to you, and you to her."

Leonard swallows, already guessing what Spock will try to suggest. "You're going to tell Jim."

But Spock's agreement almost sounds uncertain. "I should."

Leonard frowns. "Does that mean you won't?" Never would Leonard have suspected that loyal Spock might keep a discovery of this magnitude from his captain.

"Consider for a moment the consequences of such an action."

His frown deepens. "Jim'll be shocked, of course." Then upset at Leonard for _not_ telling him first. "He might think I'm not fit for duty."

"Doctor," Spock interjects in a sharper tone, "do not be absurd."

"Then what?" Leonard snaps back. "No matter which why you turn it, a fact is still a fact! If Jim finds out the Domina did something to one of his crewmen, he'll order the helmsman to turn the ship around and head at warp-speed for—" He cuts himself off, eyes widening. " _Oh._ "

"Precisely the situation I fear," Spock says solemnly. "Jim would not hesitate to approach the Domina."

"No, no, no. He has a temper. _She_ has a temper. If the Domina can make me a mind-reader, heaven knows, by the time we get Jim off that planet, he could be levitating objects or suffering from super-sonic hearing or something worse!" Despite that, Leonard can't help but laugh a little at the bizarre possibilities and tease, "Then how would you cope with us, Spock?"

"It might be interesting if you are more Vulcanian in nature."

Leonard's mouth hangs open. Then another, more horrifying thought strikes him. "My god, the Domina's revenge is turning me into a Vulcan!" His hands fly up to his ears to double-check their rounded curve.

Spock raises one eyebrow. "Dr. McCoy, I was not serious. Even the most skillful sorceress would admit to great difficulty at transforming you into a being of pure logic."

Leonard sobers and eyes his companion before drawling, "I'll take that as a compliment, Mr. Spock." Inn his relief, he decides, "And I accept your proposal. Pick me up at a quarter 'til."

"Very good," replies Spock, his eyes alight.

Maybe it's an aftereffect of the contact, but Leonard knows Spock is extremely pleased. If he touched Spock again, could he find out what other pleasant emotions Spock is capable of?

Leonard finds himself fighting the urge to do exactly that.

Spock shifts on his feet, then, releasing his hands from behind his back to cross them over his chest. The focused stare he gives Leonard this time is readable without any special skill.

"Given its peculiarity, we must collect data on this phenomenon." The Vulcan pauses, adds with belated tact, "For science."

Leonard's sigh is both amused and resigned. "I started a log." No doubt it won't be long at all before Spock, Christine, _and_ Helen get together to compare notes. "Just let me fetch it."

Spock follows him to the computer terminal, clearly already preoccupied by the promise of new research material.

As the Vulcan nearly hangs over his shoulder to read the latest log entry, Leonard experiences a moment's happiness. The feeling isn't from anyone else, he is slow to realize.

The happiness is his.

* * *

 **Up next: the Sweetheart Ball**

 **I apologize for the wait on this one, and also apologize that I don't want to end it so soon.**


	3. Part Three

**Okay, okay – please put away the looks of disappointment and instruments of torture. I swear I have already been under a form of torture, entirely self-inflicted. When the news came out in early April that Livejournal was officially under the control of the Russian government, I made the decision to move my decade-old writing journal to a self-hosted blog. More than that, I decided to self-host a _community_. A month and a half of dedicated time and resources later, SpaceTrio (spacetrio dot com) – a home for Triumvirate fans – is up and running. I have come away from this project with the realization that I must truly be crazy for Kirk, Spock, and McCoy. Thankfully, I know a few people who share my form of craziness. Through this site, we can keep in contact with each other. It is an open membership.**

 **That said, no more excuses or side projects. This story will be completed! Since I am away from mid-to-late June, the goal is to finish the last chapter before then. Thank you to everyone for your patience, enjoy, and keep checking back for the final update!**

* * *

McCoy blames Spock. Because of his calm, collected manner of delivery, Spock has the peculiar ability to make a bad idea sound good. How else can it be that Leonard so readily agreed to attend the Sweetheart Ball in the company of the very two officers that common sense has been urging him not to engage in complicated matters?

With this glum thought, the doctor arrives at work the next day. The warm greetings peter out among his staff at the sight of the CMO's face, and McCoy realizes just how clumsy he has been lately at hiding his mood. Rather than elevate their concern, he purses his mouth, slipping into the demeanor of an old Southern grouch like a second skin.

"What are y'all gawking at?" Leonard snaps at no one in particular. "Back to work!"

Several staff members exchange looks. As their stern-faced boss marches noisily through the main ward, normally a prelude to one of his legendary tirades, most of them follow him.

Becoming aware of this trail of underlings a bit too late, Leonard jerks to a stop in the main bay archway, spinning around and glaring at the lot. "Just where do you think you're going?" he demands.

A man in the same Science Blue uniform as McCoy intervenes, gliding smoothly between Leonard and the confused personnel. His composed countenance, most discretely decide after introductions, is a result of years spent in medical training among Vulcans.

"It is time for the department's weekly update, Dr. McCoy," M'Benga states. "Aren't you going to the briefing room?"

Damn, damn, and damn. Leonard has been distracted since he awoke this morning and recalled his ill-fated decision to accept Spock's proposal. But because M'Benga is eyeing him critically in the way a doctor eyes a patient, Leonard hedges rather than admitting to a lapse in memory, "I need to swing by my office for a minute. I will join you all shortly."

"Very well," agrees the doctor, waving the other staff members forward to follow him. The group disappears en masse down the corridor outside the archway.

Leonard lingers behind momentarily to collect himself, then makes good on his word, heading in the opposite direction. Once inside the CMO's office away from the public eye, he gives himself a stern talking-to about how important it is not to make others suspicious. It's bad enough that they could find out he reads minds, but it would be truly daunting if someone suspected his date for the Ball was one of the two senior-most officers on the ship.

And if someone managed to find out his date was actually _both?_ Lord, the consequences don't bear thinking about!

After repeating 'Keep your mouth shut, McCoy!' numerous times, Leonard does an about-face and hurries to join the team awaiting his arrival.

The briefing goes well enough, with nothing out of the ordinary in topic or unexpected in the coming week's schedule until a recently hired med tech catches Leonard's eye from the other side of the conference room and thinks dreamily, _I wonder if Dr. McCoy will take me to the Ball…_

"I already have a date!" he blurts out, supremely exasperated that this is _still_ the premiere thought on everyone's mind.

Following the dead silence in the room, Dr. M'Benga clicks off his final presentation slide. "Well," he remarks, dry as ever, "I suppose a date _is_ something further to add, although not quite the subject I was expecting."

"Congratulations!" Nurse Valente beams from a few chairs down. "Who is it?"

Opposite Leonard, Christine Chapel raps a stylus steadily against the front of her PADD. The woman appears to be thinking very hard.

Mortified, Leonard manages to say, "Dismissed," to his subordinates and keep his gaze averted as they begin to slowly file out of the room, no doubt disappointed to be gifted an interesting fact yet deprived of juicy details.

Leonard is to the point of covering his face with one hand when a saccharine thought with an almost honed edge strikes: _How_ cute _, he's nervous._

McCoy's head flies up to find Chapel, still seated and watching him. Only when he glares does Christine offer him a tiny, unrepentant smile. Then the nurse rises smoothly to her feet to join the Assistant CMO waiting patiently by the door. The pair leaves.

The sense of foreboding that swamps Leonard just then should have been warning enough, but he is too tired by the end of the day from avoiding prying questions to wonder why Chapel is not among the group asking them.

Foreboding, indeed.

* * *

A day later finds the mostly recovered doctor at his desk, carefully reviewing the receiving paperwork for a recent shipment of supplies. He estimates the department has another three months of adequate operation with their current on-hand inventory before a trip to a sanctioned starbase becomes necessary to restock the items that cannot be ferried by an intermediary supply ship.

"Should let Jim know," he comments to himself.

As if on cue, the desk comm crackles to life with "Kirk to Sickbay."

"Speak of the devil and he shall answer," Leonard says, amused, and taps a button to pick up the call. "McCoy here."

"Bones."

"Jim, good mornin'. Just had you on my mind."

"Oh?" A pause ensues before Jim says again, this time with less certainty, "Bones…"

Kirk's eventual descent into silence alarms his friend. "What's the matter?" Leonard rises partly out of his chair, one of his hands automatically dragging open a drawer containing an emergency medkit.

Kirk finally continues, "I heard the oddest rumor."

Leonard freezes with the medkit in his grip. "What?"

"Are you… going with us? With Spock and me," Jim is quick to clarify, "to the Sweetheart Ball?"

"Since when do you listen to rumors?" rejoins Leonard as he settles down again in relief and shoves the medkit out of sight. "I am," he confirms a moment later. A touch of apprehension makes his voice waver. "Is… that all right?"

"Of course!" Kirk sounds both relieved and thrilled. "Why didn't you tell me you wanted to come along?"

Leonard rolls his eyes. "It was Spock's idea, not mine." When the other end falls silent again, he laughs. "You didn't expect that? My god, I have lived to see the day Spock finally does something to shock you!"

"Enough," Jim says, though he doesn't seem upset in the least. "If I found Spock predictable, I wouldn't keep him as a first officer. What I really want to know, mister, is what you two are up to."

Leonard feigns ignorance. "We thought we would have a good time together."

"Bones."

"Honestly, Jim, you make it sound like Spock and I don't _ever_ get along."

The warning " _Bones_ " comes again, yet Kirk's sigh quickly follows it through the comm speaker. "Fine, you win. I won't ask. One would think by now that I shouldn't _want_ to know." He pauses again. "Do I need to wear my dress uniform?"

"I won't if you won't," Leonard declares quickly. One of these days he'll lop the collar off the damn thing. "Besides, this isn't a formally sanctioned Starfleet event, remember?"

"It's a captain-sanctioned event," Jim retorts, "but I agree. No need to intimidate the juniors by standing on formality. Did I ever tell you the captain of the _Farragut_ would do that? He would show up in the lounge where we lieutenants gathered for off-duty games dressed like he was attending an interrogation by admirals. It made everyone jumpy. Garrovick would laugh. He had the strangest sense of humor."

Leonard interjects, shaking his head to himself, "Jim, is there a reason you called me up _other_ than to reminisce about the good ol' days?"

"I guess not," comes the guilty response.

"I'll listen to the story later. Go back to your paperwork."

"How did you know—"

Leonard stops him once more. "I always know, Captain. Paperwork. Finish it." Kirk mutters something McCoy can pretend he doesn't hear. "Don't give your yeoman a reason to ground you, otherwise I'll be less a date tomorrow."

"Duly noted. Kirk out."

Leonard looks up briefly at the ceiling and grins. Then he too resumes the task of culling his own stack of paperwork.

* * *

On the evening of the Ball, Spock arrives promptly at McCoy's cabin door. Leonard takes a moment to admire the Vulcan's sleek black tunic jacket and matching pants before accompanying Spock to pick up Jim. They stand outside the Captain's quarters after repeatedly pressing the buzzer and wonder if their third companion has already headed to the event without them.

Jim rushes out the door not a moment too soon after this consideration, claiming, "I heard you! I just couldn't find my damn shoe!"

They all look down to confirm that Jim is, in fact, wearing two shoes.

"They match," Leonard states. "Good enough."

Kirk looks not so happy as he starts down the corridor. "I don't like them. What possessed me to order them? I don't _need_ dress shoes. I like _boots_."

Leonard nudges Spock with his elbow. "Somebody sounds nervous."

Kirk's head whips around, his gaze narrowing. "I heard that. For the record, I am not nervous."

"Going to a social dance," chirps Leonard gleefully. "It'll be easy as pie, Jim-boy. Easier than, say, fighting a Klingon armada."

Kirk turns away again, mumbling, " _Klingons I can handle._ "

"Keep an eye on him," Leonard warns Spock.

The Vulcan nods ever-so-slightly.

"I heard that!"

The turbolift at the corridor's end awaits them as their chariot, sweeping Kirk, Spock, and McCoy off to the ball.

* * *

When the lift door opens to reveal a noisy, colorfully decorated, and densely populated ballroom, Leonard is the one suffering from sudden nerves. He could swear that all eyes are on their small three-person party as he exits last from the lift upon the heels of Kirk and Spock. At the very least, his head is already ringing with the attention _his_ particular appearance has commanded.

Shifting sideways, Leonard chooses Spock as his shield from the curious stares.

Kirk, already moving forward, comes to a standstill after a brief frown at the vacant spot on his right. Turning, he locates McCoy. "Bones, what are you doing?"

Leonard stares back. "Nothin'."

Jim looks from Leonard to Spock's back to Leonard again. But rather than pursuing the reason for his friend's odd behavior, the man sighs through his nose and proceeds down the main staircase. Leonard multitasks keeping close to Spock without knocking into him and using the higher vantage point of the stairs to inspect the crowd for a few friendly faces. He figures he might need them in the event he finds himself cornered by one of the many people currently anticipating an opportunity to make the CMO a dance partner.

Leonard simply doesn't understand what is so enticing about being noticed by a self-proclaimed curmudgeon. _He_ would stay out of the curmudgeon's way.

As soon as his feet land on the ballroom floor, an arm snakes out from his blind spot to snag his sleeve.

Kirk and Spock turn sharply at McCoy's squeak of surprise, but their visible tension dissipates as quickly as it appears.

"Good evening, Captain, Commander," Chapel greets the two men as she swings around the edge of the staircase to place herself at Leonard's side. Her twinkling blue eyes take in McCoy. "So this is why you were nervous," she whispers loudly enough to be heard a few rows of people over.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he denies.

"You should have told me."

"Told you what?"

"Why, that you planned to take the Captain and Mr. Spock to the Ball!"

"I believe it is the other way around, Nurse Chapel," Spock intercedes. "We are escorting Dr. McCoy."

"Isn't that interesting?" purrs Christine. "Mr. Spock, I would be jealous if I didn't believe Leonard deserves the very best."

Jim chokes and turns partly away, hiding his expression.

"Christine," Leonard pleads, hoping that—God willing—he can find a way to distract her, "where's your date? Don't tell me you left the poor fellow on his own."

"Of course not." Chapel lifts a hand and makes a come-hither motion to a person invisible among the crowds. "But you know how reserved Geoff can be at times. Oh, but won't he be pleased to see this! We won the bet."

"Bet?" Alarm growing, Leonard works to remove his arm from the woman's grip.

Her hand tightens briefly on his forearm before releasing him. "Since you failed to provide the identity of your date, we had no choice, Doctor. We started a betting pool."

"I didn't hear that," mutters Kirk.

Her gaze sweeps over the men in question as she smiles. "Of course, I wouldn't call it a guess for some."

Spock quirks an eyebrow.

Leonard wedges himself in between Jim and Spock where it's safer. "Who wants a drink?" he asks his male companions with undisguised desperation. "We should find drinks."

Jim gives him a strangely soft look before turning one of his almost blindingly charming smiles on Chapel. "Christine, Dr. M'Benga is a lucky man to have your company tonight. We wouldn't want to take up a moment more of your attention."

She smiles at the flattery, saying congenially, "Of course, Captain," but all of them hear the true meaning behind the agreement: _I'll let you escape this time._

Leonard knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Latching onto Jim, assured that Spock will follow, he sets off at a pace across the room that forces the other men to lengthen their strides.

Lord in heaven, just when did his personal life become the subject of fascination for so many people?

"Bones, slow down."

"Not a chance in hell!"

"Chapel isn't watching anymore."

That brings Leonard to a stop. He grumps, "We're not running away."

"We're not?" questions his friend, smiling faintly but pressing the subject no more.

Leonard turns in a slow circle, working to regain his composure. He discovers that the three of them are now blocked on all sides by large groups of people, the bar he had intended to find nowhere in sight.

"Why is it so crowded?" he complains.

Jim squeezes Leonard's arm. "We don't have to stay if you're uncomfortable."

Leonard eyes him. "I'm fine if you're fine."

Jim replies, "No problem here."

Together they look at Spock.

Spock points out, "I see no reason to leave when we have only just arrived."

Leonard cannot help but grin at Jim's reaction. "Well that's a happy look for a man who wasn't planning to come on his own."

Jim cups a hand around one ear. "What's that, Bones? You're glad you changed your mind about working in Sickbay?"

Leonard huffs. "All right, point made." He cuts his eyes at Spock about to remark that if anyone should be congratulated for having good sense, maybe it ought to be Spock. Spock would both preen under the compliment and pretend to be disturbed that Leonard is the one who said it. That could spur a conversation he is confident he can handle.

In that moment, however, McCoy's attention is caught by a familiar accent, followed quickly by the sight of the Enterprise's youngest Bridge lieutenant breaking through the crowd on the heels of a buxom crewman, obstinately trying his best to charm her into a dance. Jim and Spock pause as well to watch the enthusiastic young man and his tolerantly amused companion.

Jim murmurs, tone wistful, "Ah, to be young."

Leonard looks at him. "Reminiscing again?"

Kirk lifts one shoulder as if not certain of the answer himself. "I was thinking of the resilience that comes with youth."

"I would agree with you, Captain. Lt. Chekov is a fine example of resilience."

Jim smiles at Spock. "I meant with respect to the matters of love, Mr. Spock."

Spock tips his head in the direction of Chekov, who has moved on to another crewman of interest since the failure of his prior conquest. "So did I."

Kirk laughs.

Leonard is curious, though, to know more. "Jim, I thought you spent your youth buried under books. What would you know about romancing?"

"I never said I was in the library _every_ nanosecond, Bones," Jim corrects, voice amused. "I had my fair share of love affairs." His amusement fades slowly. "To be truthful, most of those… relationships were not serious. There was one long-term commitment… but love and ambition made an unhealthy combination. It didn't work out."

"Don't I know about that?" Leonard sighs. Glancing sideways at his other companion, he muses, "I don't suppose a Vulcan youth gets troubled by the pangs of the heart."

Spock considers him. "A childhood betrothal is not without its trials, Doctor."

"And we know how _that_ ended," Jim murmurs, rubbing his chest absentmindedly.

This time Leonard sighs on behalf of all of them. "Wonderful. Since we're so lousy at relationships, I guess that makes the three of us perfect company for each other."

Both of Spock's eyebrows fly up. "That would be the first logical thing you have said all evening, Doctor."

Before Leonard can sputter a response, Jim places a hand on the shoulder blade of each man and begins to steer them through the crowd. "Why don't we find a relatively safe corner to continue this discussion?"

"Safe?" Leonard questions suspiciously. "Don't you mean quiet?"

The man chuckles even as he explains, "I would never endanger my crew needlessly…"

"Captain," Spock inserts, his voice as indignant as Leonard's expression.

"…but nor would I deny you two your fun. Here we go," Kirk announces, parking the three of them at a table on the far edge of the ballroom. "Have at it."

Spock and Leonard exchange a look, for if there is a time when they come to an agreement without the necessity of words, it is when Kirk needs a firm hand. Moving in tandem, they take a seat next to each other on the opposite side of the table, leaving Jim to face them both.

"We don't know what you mean," Leonard says to Kirk. "We get along just fine."

"Indeed," echoes Spock.

Though Jim says nothing, a wave of familiar fondness washes over Leonard.

Leonard turns to his companion. "Spock, I think Jim's the one who likes the arguing. He stuck us over here to keep us all to himself."

"Then we must consider to what degree our duty to Captain Kirk extends." Spock muses aloud, "Perhaps it will be sufficient to entertain him for a half-hour?"

They turn to Jim.

Kirk flushes like a man suffering embarrassment yet retains the stubborn quality to his gaze. "Thirty minutes will do, Mr. Spock."

Leonard feels ridiculously pleased. Rather than determine why, he props his hand up on his chin and commands, "So hurry up and bring us some refreshments. I refuse to start an argument with this green-blooded hobgoblin while he's sober."

"Then you should not bother to argue with me at all," Spock quips.

Jim slides off his stool with a flash of a grin and trots away.

Leonard turns to Spock. "Well, Spock, is this better or worse than you anticipated?"

"To which do you refer: the event or the company?"

Leonard simply looks at him.

Spock inclines his head ever-so-slightly. "It is as I expected."

Leonard cocks an eyebrow. "Oh?"

The Vulcan's gaze tracks Kirk's progress across the ballroom. "Jim could not have experienced this level of contentment without you. Given that I feel as he does, the only recourse was to ensure that you joined us."

Leonard is struck momentarily speechless.

Spock's gaze finds and pins him. "Did you not know?"

"Know what?" Leonard asks, feeling his mouth dry up. Despite asking, he has a pretty good idea of the answer.

Spock delays his response, and Leonard realizes why. Jim has returned in short order, three champagne flutes in hand.

Smiling, Kirk sets the glasses down on the table then slides one across to Leonard. His question "Will this be enough?" is a bit impish.

Leonard grabs the drink and downs the champagne all at once, nearly choking afterward.

Jim's expression switches from playful to bemused. "I guess not."

With nary a word, Spock offers Leonard his flute as well. This time Leonard doesn't choke.

Kirk sits down with a sigh. "All right, what did I miss?"

"Nothing," Leonard bleats, then adds with haste, "we started without you."

Even if Spock claims not to understand human behavior very well, he does not fail to miss that cue. "I was merely attempting to help Dr. McCoy recognize an obvious conclusion."

This Leonard comprehends. He raises his voice slightly. "Obvious to who? Not all of us have a computer for a brain, Spock!"

The Vulcan's rejoinder sounds far away, for suddenly Leonard finds himself distracted by the way Kirk's shoulders relax and a smile comes into the man's eyes.

Jim meets his stare with the air of the innocent. "Something wrong, Bones?"

Leonard swallows down a warm feeling. "Are… you going to finish that?"

With a burst of laughter, Jim pushes his champagne flute over, cautioning McCoy good-naturedly, "Try to drink this one more slowly."

Spock stands up. "It appears we are in need of a second round."

Leonard is simultaneously relieved and filled with regret when the Vulcan walks away. He sips from the flute slowly to appease Kirk.

Jim's gaze travels around the room. "Looks like this could be an interesting evening."

Leonard hopes the man mistakes the reddening of his face as a sign of encroaching inebriation.

But truth be told, McCoy has never felt soberer. Why now, he wonders, did Spock have to confirm for him what he already suspected? It's as if Spock knows that he knows and wants to push for a confrontation.

Leonard cannot say for certain what he will do if it comes down to that, a confrontation between any of them—and not knowing unnerves him.

He becomes determined to turn his mind to anything else. "Jim, you mentioned you knew a thing or two about parties. Does that mean you can dance?"

For a moment, Leonard's brain lights up with fireworks, an excitement not his own.

"You bet I can," Kirk choruses, coming off his stool and holding out an imperative hand to McCoy. "I'll show you!"

Leonard realizes his error too late but there is no turning down Jim Kirk when Leonard can feel how utterly joyful the man is at the prospect of dancing with him.

 _What have I gotten myself into?_ he thinks as Jim latches onto his arm.

While the Captain of the Enterprise tugs his companion to the crowded dance floor, McCoy catches a glimpse of a familiar figure nearby. Standing tall, hands at his back, Spock watches the pair with an air of approval, the same approval Leonard has seen the commander display when a team under his supervision is working furiously on a project, on the verge of some major discovery. Undoubtedly by the time Jim has satiated his desire to spin Leonard in circles, the Vulcan will be waiting patiently for them at their table, more champagne flutes at the ready as though he had not cleverly engineered at an opportunity to prove his point.

Leonard begrudgingly forgives Spock. How can he not when Jim is leaking happiness and warmth and love all over him as they take the first steps together of a formal dance?

In the eyes of the bystanders, the two men may stand at a proper distance apart, but to Leonard, Jim hugs him close with his emotion. Leonard senses the "Thank you, Bones" before it arrives.

He asks, "For what, Jim?"

Jim smiles. "For making this a night to remember."

Leonard just nods and lets his friend keep him close.

* * *

"You're a sight for sore eyes." The melodious voice turns Leonard's head in time to watch Uhura slip onto a stool near him in front of the bar.

He had located the small bar at the back of the ballroom not to refill his champagne glass but to exchange it for a cup of water because the only explanation he can come up with for his growing contentment as the evening wears on is that the champagne must be at fault. That is why when Spock insisted Leonard begin to moderate his intake of alcohol he did not argue.

"Hello there, darling," he greets the woman. "Were you lookin' for me?"

"I had wondered if you were going to show tonight," Uhura admits.

Leonard nods. "It took a while to find a date."

"Was _that_ the problem?" she asks, sounding only mildly unconvinced, but as her gaze moves away from him to scrutinize the ballroom, she changes the subject. "I'll be honest, Doctor. I'm hiding. I like my date well enough but his energy level far outstrips mine." She rubs an ankle, shaking her head. "I've never danced so much in my life."

"I thought you loved to dance."

"Oh I do—within reason." Her eyes come back to him, full of thoughtful consideration. "You and Captain Kirk looked like you were enjoying yourselves."

"Remind me never to dance with that man again," Leonard grumps. "He might be worse than that puppy of a lieutenant you came with." His grumbling changes to a good-humored tone. "I handed him over to Spock. We'll see if that Vulcan endurance Spock brags about can withstand Jim's obsession for square dancing."

Uhura breaks into a peel of laughter. McCoy chuckles alongside her.

When their laughter finally subsides, he remembers something and wonders if he should ask or not. Well, the doctor decides, since others believe they can be nosy about his business, maybe he has the right to be nosy too. Leaning casually against the bar, he mentions, "I think I saw Mr. Scott with Lt. Romaine."

To his surprise, Uhura's response is a gusty sigh. "I'm aggravated with that man."

Leonard's curiosity gets the better of him. "What'd he do?"

Uhura presses her mouth into an unhappy line. "He waited too late to ask me to the Ball. If I had known he would be open to an offer, I could have saved us both disappointment by asking him first." Her second sigh is more subdued. "He's happy with Mira, though. I can tell."

Leonard points out, "Doesn't mean you can't save a dance for him. I know for a fact that Scotty would not turn you down."

Uhura looks at him sharply.

"I mean," Leonard scrambles to amend, "I'm sure he wouldn't. Who in their right mind would say no to a beautiful lady like you!" Boy he hopes Scott was not planning to keep his adoration of Uhura a secret for much longer.

The woman extends a hand. "In that case," she requests, "would you care to dance, sir?"

He stares only for a second before breaking into a pleased grin. "I may not know about anybody else but _I'm_ definitely in my right mind." He adds, noticing Uhura come to her feet carefully, "We'll just keep to a little shuffle-and-sway, shall we? Nothing rigorous."

 _He's such a nice man_. "That would be wonderful, Doctor."

"Leonard, please," he says, warmed by Uhura's unspoken comment, and leads her towards the dance floor.

And after their dance, if McCoy happens to leave this lovely lady with Scotty while coaxing Scotty's date to dance with him, well, a man can only hope for the best for his two friends.

* * *

Sometime later, Leonard's body is in protest of exceeding his dancing quota for the day (and possibly the whole year). Finding a chair situated against a wall and partially sheltered by a tall potted plant, he stretches out his legs, crossing them at the ankle to ease some of the pressure on his throbbing feet.

Who could have guessed that one dance with Uhura—and then Romaine—would start an avalanche of requests?

Overwhelmed by the hopefulness of his suitors, he failed to turn down a single one of them. He danced with that doe-eyed ensign from whom he once narrowly escaped, with the cafeteria lady, then a grinning lad from Engineering, practically his entire medical staff, and even Yeoman Janice Rand, the one person he assumed would have preferred to ask Jim yet she approached him instead and by the end of the dance, though appearing a little glassy-eyed, gave him the impression she had resolved some internal conflict of her own.

Frankly Leonard is embarrassed that he hasn't had much attention for the men who accompanied him to the Ball. Even worse, he's lost track of them.

 _Where in blast have those two gotten to?_

Groaning, he sits up, preparing to enact a search party of one for his errant partners.

With impeccable timing, Jim appears around the other side of the potted plant, the tiny smile curving his mouth belying the sternness of his posture. "There you are." The man teases, "Now who's Mr. Popularity?"

"Oh god," cries McCoy, "don't say that! I'm over it, Jim, I swear. Spock can _have_ the title. I'll never be jealous again."

Laughing softly, Kirk takes the empty seat next to him. "Good. It does me no favors if you can't appreciate each other's strengths. The crew may be enamored of Spock, Bones, but I promise you, you are just as special in their eyes."

Leonard snorts but still appreciates the sentiment. "Thanks. Although I'll just take that to mean you want me to be a fan of Spock's too."

"Aren't you?" Jim challenges.

"Yes," he admits.

"That is most pleasing to hear, Dr. McCoy."

Leonard sinks down in his chair, his look of surprise quickly changing to a glare. "You tricked me," he accuses Jim as Spock steps around the potted plant. "You knew he was listening!"

Kirk's smile curls devilishly at the corners.

Leonard harrumphs, thinking that he doesn't know what to do with these two—or, really, what to do without them.

"I'm done in," he decides with a sideways roll of his neck. "What'd you say we leave what's left of this shindig to the young ones?"

Kirk nods. "Agreed. My quarters?" He looks to Spock for confirmation.

"An excellent idea, sir," the Vulcan confirms, then inquires of McCoy, "Do you need assistance?"

Unthinking, Leonard throws out an arm. "Why not?"

He freezes a moment later, realizing his mistake as Spock's fingers wrap around the bared skin of his wrist—but the effect isn't terrifying or overwhelming as anticipated. Little frissons of emotion reach him through the awakened connection, mostly approval and pleasure.

There is nothing to fear from Spock, Leonard understands then, and never will be.

He relaxes and allows himself to be drawn to his feet. Spock releases McCoy at the same time Kirk's hand settles on his lower back.

"Let's go," Jim says.

Leonard hears that as _let's go home_ and finds he could not agree more.

* * *

Leonard comes awake with a start, not recognizing his surroundings and completely shocked to realize he must have fallen asleep.

At his shifting on the bed, a groggy voice cuts through McCoy's brain: "Computer, lights, twenty percent."

Leonard freezes, then, and searches his memory hurriedly. He remembers stretching out on Kirk's couch; he remembers watching Jim and Spock play a chess match and playing referee. Though Kirk and Spock were immersed in their game, Leonard hadn't felt left out. Occasionally one of them would comment to him or check that he was comfortable. And Leonard had been comfortable, now that he considers that final hazy moment in his memory. So comfortable, in fact…

"I was on the couch," he murmurs, still mostly disbelieving as he peers at the semi-dark interior of what can only be Kirk's bedroom cabin.

"You were," agrees Jim, seeming to shake off his grogginess. "You fell asleep before Spock and I finished the last game. Since you looked comfortable, we threw a blanket over you and left you there. I…" Jim's voice dies out, comes back slowly. "I remember reading in the chair beside the couch. I must have nodded off."

Leonard believes that, having seen Jim's penchant for dozing at his desk or in a lounge chair, anywhere in general that is a far cry from a genuine bed, inevitably because of exhaustion gets the better of him.

If they were both asleep, then Spock would have returned to his own quarters. That means…

Leonard and Jim turn to look at one another through the dark.

"Spock must have—" Jim begins.

Leonard finishes, "—tucked us in." An awkward silence passes between the men until Leonard's brain finally comprehends the implications of his conclusion. His spine stiffens. "Why that green-blooded son of a…!"

"Don't finish that," Jim says in warning. "I like Spock's mother."

Leonard releases his indignation in a whoosh of air but agrees, "So do I."

Kirk sits up, his voice turning uncertain. "Bones…"

Another short silence ensues while Leonard wonders if this what it feels like to stand at a precipice, knowing the next thing he says could change a long, solid friendship. In the end, the decision of what to do isn't so difficult to make.

Leonard lays back down, allowing himself to relax into the mattress. "I'll give that presumptuous Vulcan an earful in the morning." When Kirk doesn't follow suit, he issues a soft command. "Lay down, Jim. You need the rest."

"You're staying." Though sharp, the words do not form a question.

Leonard provides confirmation anyway. "I'm staying."

Following a lengthy pause, the man next to McCoy settles in his former spot.

"Computer, lights off," Leonard says.

In the stillness of the unlit room, Leonard listens to his friend breathe evenly, certain of the impression Kirk is not so relaxed as he sounds. What is Jim thinking? In that moment, Leonard's gift will not tell him.

Sighing softly, McCoy turns on his side, facing a faint silhouette of a nightstand. "At least Spock had sense enough to give us each a pillow," he mutters. "I don't share."

The mattress dips slightly as Kirk adjusts his position on the bed. "It's been a long time since I shared too," comes the quiet admission. Then, more softly, "Goodnight, Bones."

Leonard's heart feels at ease. He closes his eyes. "'Night, Jim."

For some time, Jim's feelings drift toward him in small eddies, not overwhelming, not so daunting as Leonard once thought them to be. He could get used to his gift, he muses as he continues to grow drowsier, if the feelings are always this nice. Sort of like having a blanket to stave off a chill.

Will Jim always care about him this much?

Would it be twice as pleasant if he had Spock to rely on as well?

McCoy falls asleep before any answers can be found.

* * *

The following morning is sobering, bereft of a darkness that can soften or obscure reality.

"I don't know what you're planning," Leonard greets the man waiting outside of Kirk's main cabin, "but I don't like it."

"Indeed," the First Officer remarks, unruffled, hands at his back. "That seems a specialty of yours, Doctor—not appreciating that which you have yet to fully understand."

Leonard grunts in response and sets off for the nearest turbolift. Because it is barely the waking hour for most crewmen on the deck housing the senior officers' quarters, there is no one around to witness him trying to speed walk away from his Vulcan shadow. Yet no matter how fast Leonard goes, he notes sourly that Spock easily keeps pace with him.

"I don't recall asking for an escort," he complains when they reach the turbolift. "In fact, I don't remember letting you know I was awake at all."

"Jim did," Spock replies simply.

Leonard employs a few choice phrases to describe the man who wouldn't speak to him since they both woke up. To his surprise, Spock doesn't get testy about him insulting their captain.

Leonard isn't simply aggravated; he is hankering for a fight. Ignoring the lift's arrival, he rounds on the Vulcan. "Why did you do it?"

Spock cocks an arrogant eyebrow.

Leonard bites out, "Leave me with Jim last night."

"Is that not where you wished to be?"

His mouth opens. No response is immediately forthcoming.

Spock surmises, "Then I was not in error."

"Error?" Leonard's temper flares. "There was an error all right!"

Spock shifts forward without warning, his hands dropping to his sides. "Impossible."

Vaguely Leonard is aware of the turbolift beeping its impatience at them, a warning that it will soon leave with or without any passengers.

"Explain," Spock insists.

Leonard sighs through his nose, tightening the leash on his temper once again. "Your error was assuming you had the right to make such a decision for us."

Spock eases back again, calmer too. "Leonard, what would have been the outcome had I awoken you and asked your opinion?" He seems to take Leonard's silence as an answer. "It was not my intention to cause harm to your relationship with Jim. Have I done so?"

"No, of course not. One little cuddle-session isn't going to change what Jim and I have."

Spock's gaze darkens, his lack of immediate response lending the impression that he is thinking deeply upon Leonard's comment.

McCoy cannot fathom why—or what Spock believes can be achieved by maneuvering him and Jim into a situation like last night.

He does something on a whim, invite a risk that before now he wouldn't have believed he would welcome. Offering up his wrist to Spock, Leonard waits with a slight impatience to find out what will happen next. He acknowledges that he can no longer deny understanding the implication—and consequences—of his actions.

Spock does not hesitate. He simply takes the proffered wrist and in turn arranges the fingertips of his free hand at the psy-points of Leonard's face.

Leonard has a flash of memory, of another time and place and another Vulcan with Spock's face who took his wrist—to restrain—and laid a hand against his face—to forcefully take that which would not be willingly given. McCoy's breath hitches only for a heartbeat before Spock deftly dismisses the image and replaces it with one of the present, the two of them standing close, bound by friendship and honor—and something more.

Spock shows him what that something more is, intoning, _Know my thoughts._

Leonard does.

 _Know what I feel._

Leonard does.

 _Spock, this… I had no idea,_ he responds afterwards. _How is it possible?_

 _To love, Doctor? Would you not say that in particular is a natural ability of your species?_

 _But you said you can't love._

 _As you often remind me, I am human too._

In that moment, how much Spock cares for Leonard feels as tangible as his physical skin. Leonard has the urge to own the feeling somehow, to make certain it cannot be taken away on a whim.

 _Illogical,_ decides Spock. _Why is there a desire to own that which is offered freely?_

 _I don't know. I just… like this too much._

 _Then cherish my feelings as I cherish yours._

 _My feelings?_ But Leonard understands himself, then, with as much clarity as Spock had presented his own secret. _My god, I love you!_

As pleased as Spock is about this long-overdue epiphany, a sense of urgency encompasses Leonard, as though Spock requires him to press for more, to dig further into his heart.

To guide this effort, Spock takes the secret recently laid bare and turns it like one flips a coin to its opposite side. The same thoughts and feelings are there but for a different man—a person who sometimes is similar to Leonard in startling ways and just as often is as different as night is to day.

 _I knew about Jim_ , Leonard confesses, feeling that farther away, where his body is, tears have sprung to his eyes. _I knew you loved him, but I couldn't accept why your thoughts included me. Why love me, Spock, when you already love him?_

Spock counters, _Why not love both when both are equally deserving of love?_

 _Spock,_ Leonard thinks, and says, wanting to give the name sound. "Spock."

"What's the meaning of this?"

The interjecting voice is a shock to them both. Leonard, caught off-guard, has only a split second to marvel at the mirror images of his surprise and Spock's before Spock, ever quick to assess and act, shuts down the link between them so that the physical jerk of Leonard's body does no harm when they are abruptly disconnected.

Leonard stumbles a step back and turns with Spock to face their interloper.

Standing barely an arm's length away, Jim Kirk stares at them in disbelief.

"Jim," Leonard starts, only to have his voice catch upon the name.

"Captain," Spock states more firmly, "we can explain."

"You'd better," Kirk says following an awful moment of silence. Then the man pivots on the ball of his foot, his posture as tense as his tone, leaving Spock and McCoy to reluctantly trail behind.


	4. Part Four

Watching Jim pace the cabin like a caged animal, Leonard swallows a knot of dread. He glances at the towel which had hung from his captain's neck before being discarded on the couch, whatever plans Kirk might have had to visit the ship's gymnasium waylaid by their unexpected encounter.

The doctor chastises himself, _I should've been more careful._ Transferring his gaze to his partner-in-crime, he amends, _We should have._

Like McCoy, Spock has not expressed any sentiment of regret. Though to be fair, the more closely McCoy studies the Vulcan, the less certain he is that Spock regrets being caught. Spock's maddening composure very likely masks what he is up to: aligning facts in perfect order to win the argument to come. In fact, to McCoy Spock looks calmer than the time he gave testimony at his own court-martial hearing.

Leonard almost forgets himself and harrumphs aloud. _Impervious, impertinent Vulcan!_

As Spock angles his head towards McCoy, Leonard flings another thought the officer's way. _If you heard that, you pointy-eared statue, this is all your fault._

Spock blinks, and Leonard rolls his eyes ceiling-ward.

All of a sudden Kirk ceases to pace, rounding on McCoy. "Care to share the source of your amusement, Lieutenant-Commander?"

Leonard winces under the captain's hard stare. "No, sir."

Kirk switches his to gaze to Spock. "I want that explanation now, gentlemen."

Leonard swallows down more dread. "Jim, we forgot ourselves."

"I said an explanation, not an excuse," snaps the man.

Leonard stiffens out of consternation, his temper testing its leash. "Captain, you make it sound like we committed a crime."

"You're well on your way to convincing me that you require a reprimand."

"Sir," Spock cuts over McCoy's sputtering attempt to reply, "circumstances, however unsettling, are as they appear: Dr. McCoy and I engaged in a mind meld. To the Doctor's point, it is our mistake to have done so in public but the act itself is not against regulation." Spock adds with mild chastisement, "I see no cause for anger from either of you. We should discuss the matter rationally."

Leonard points at Jim. "But he said—"

"Bones."

McCoy firms his mouth in dismay.

Everything about Kirk seems to deflate. "I agree with Spock. I am behaving poorly. I apologize."

Leonard mulls over the apology for a brief second before accepting the truce. "I shouldn't have snapped." More hesitantly, he voices, "Jim, I can understand why you're upset."

Kirk meets his gaze. "Do you, Doctor?" But he quickly looks to Spock again. "Is there something I should know?"

Leonard feels a pang of guilt that Jim is now the one hesitating. Reminding the captain that a line exists between superior and subordinate, making it unacceptable to pry into another's personal business, is the last thing he wanted to do.

Then Spock answers, "The choice is Dr. McCoy's," and Leonard's guilt is overridden by a case of nerves.

 _Oh no, don't look at me,_ Leonard begs silently, but of course Jim does, the question in his eyes apparent.

Stomach plummeting to his feet, McCoy stutters, "I-I… I, uh…" and turns pleadingly to Spock.

The Vulcan volunteers unhelpfully, "We should ask the Captain to take a seat."

Kirk's intake of breath lacks its normally steady rhythm, and when the man releases that breath, he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Leonard hears the mutter, "I'm going to regret asking, aren't I?"

Far more frustrated with Spock, Leonard levels his fiercest glare on the culprit in question. _Damn it, since you've stuck us in this mess, help me fix it!_

Spock turns to Kirk. "Dr. McCoy reads minds."

The hand pinching Kirk's nose stills. "Excuse me?" Jim maintains the puzzled politeness of a man with no idea why someone would employ such a bizarre joke.

Spock repeats matter-of-factly, "Dr. McCoy reads minds."

Kirk turns to stare blankly at McCoy—until that blankness transforms into comprehension, and comprehension to shock.

When Kirk very literally staggers back in front of them, Leonard cries, "Jim!" and hurries to take hold of the man's arm. He forgets that Jim can recover his composure in an instant, and Kirk meets McCoy halfway, grabbing the doctor by the arms.

"Bones." The man's voice turns to a croak. "Is it…true?" When McCoy is not fast enough to answer, Jim shakes him. "Bones!"

"Hold on, hold on!" Undecided if Jim is distressed or angry, Leonard falls back on prickly habits. "For god's sake, I can't tell you anything if you keep rattling my teeth!"

Letting McCoy go with reluctance, Jim's tone gains an edge of fear. "What's wrong with you?"

"Spock, that's what," retorts Leonard. "I don't read minds. Hush, you!" he hisses when the accused starts to protest. "I should've known your lack of tact would be worse than my blundering. Our captain could've had a heart attack!"

A beat of silence ensues. Then Kirk says in a pained voice, "Your captain could still have a heart attack. Someone, please, tell me what's going on."

Leonard dials down his ire, settling on a sigh through his nose. "I don't have the natural ability to read minds. Spock said so. But I do have a mind-reading problem."

"What does that mean?"

"Dr. McCoy, clearly blundering causes far more confusion than the absence of tact. Allow me to explain."

Leonard snaps, "It's my problem so I'll do the explaining, you confounded nuisance!"

Without warning, Jim turns away and heads for the main cabin's couch. "Note to self," the man is speaking ruefully as he goes, "when someone advises sitting down, sit down. Enough, you two. Come over here."

Leonard's annoyance fades as he moves around the couch to face Jim. "It's not so bad. The mind-reading thing. And it's temporary."

"We do not know that," Spock disagrees as he joins them.

The now-seated Kirk presses his palms flat against his thighs, watching Spock and McCoy with an air of parental disapproval. "Start from the beginning. How did my psy-null senior medical officer end up with a mind-reading ability—" He lifts a hand to stall a response. "—whatever the nuances of that ability may be? When did it start? Why?"

Leonard decides sitting down is sound advice and drops indelicately into the nearest chair. After a futile attempt to organize his explanation, he states baldly, "I might have pissed off a witch."

"Who?" Kirk wants to know.

Leonard wishes he could slink away from this conversation but they're past the point of no return. "The Domina of Quirinus."

Jim pales then immediately flushes with returning color, his eyes narrowing to slits. "The Domina did something to you while you were treating her." It's a statement, not a question.

"That is precisely the situation, Captain," Spock confirms.

Leonard hunches into his chair, awaiting the tirade.

Instead, Kirk rises wordlessly from his chair, the only sign of reaction evident in the flare of his nostrils. When he starts across the cabin, Leonard comprehends the man's destination and scrambles out of his chair.

"Jim, _no._ "

To McCoy's relief, Spock inserts himself gracefully into Kirk's path. "Captain, you are well-aware that negotiations between the Federation and the Quirans have reached a delicate stage. We cannot interrupt the proceedings without due cause."

When Kirk's hands form fists, Leonard has the sudden irrational fear the man might actually take a swing at Spock.

But Kirk grates out, "Tampering with one of my crew is cause enough, Mr. Spock."

Leonard comes up on Jim's other side. "Captain, please reconsider. The affliction hasn't impacted my ability to perform my duties." Then, "Jim, please… I'm not in any danger."

"Spock, do you believe with absolute certainty that there is no danger to McCoy?"

"Negative," Spock replies calmly.

Kirk moves around his second-in-command, then. At the computer desk, he activates its integrated comm unit. "Kirk to Bridge."

"Bridge here."

"Prepare to change course. Coordinates to be relayed shortly." Jim clicks off the comm, turning to address the men in his quarters. "I will inform Command of our return to Quirinus. Afterward, I want to know every detail about the incident. Mr. Spock, schedule a debriefing between the three of us for the afternoon. Dr. McCoy…" Jim considers Leonard a moment before ordering, "Send me your medical report, including a full physical." He takes a seat behind his desk, already focused on the computer screen. "Dismissed."

McCoy is certain he would not have convinced his legs to cooperate if Spock had not taken his elbow in hand and gently but firmly steered him to the door. As he and Spock enter the corridor, Leonard manages a final glimpse of Kirk, hard at work compiling a missive to the admiral in charge of the Embassy Branch. From the hard set of Jim's jaw, Leonard accepts that while he may not agree with his captain's decision, he will have to abide by it.

The fault, he thinks dismally, is entirely his own.

Then Spock and McCoy are utterly alone in the corridor.

He tells the Vulcan, "I made a mistake."

"Mistakes are inevitable, Doctor. In this case, I believe, for the best."

 _For the best?_ "I wish I could say I find that answer comforting, Spock." With some uncertainty, he changes the subject to another matter they should not ignore. "About what happened when we… you know." He gestures between their heads. "We should talk."

Spock has a different opinion. "Regretfully, I must insist that we do not."

"Why?"

"Jim will not be approachable until he has eliminated the Domina's influence over you," the Vulcan elaborates, "and without him, we cannot take full measure of our quandary."

Damn. Yet another thing to be unhappy about. Leonard sighs. "You mean even if I decided to come clean with Jim about how I feel, he wouldn't believe me."

Spock's tone gentles. "He would want to believe you. It would hurt him just as deeply as you that he could not. Let us first remove the possibility of doubt. Then we will show him all that we are capable of offering."

"I suppose so," murmurs McCoy, folding his arms across his chest. Suddenly he cannot quite look Spock in the eyes. "I'll still a little doubtful myself."

"I understand," Spock says. "I will help you as I can."

Leonard eyes his companion. "You're much too calm about having an emotional attachment to a pair of humans. Just how long have you known?"

"Longer than you might imagine." Spock cocks his head at Leonard's surprised expression. "Would you feel more comfortable if I admitted to struggling with the concept?"

"Yeah, I would."

"I deliberated on the matter at great length," Spock replies promptly. "Until, of course, it became apparent it was illogical to debate facts."

Leonard pounces on that opening. "Are you suggesting you acted illogically?"

"Doctor, _that_ suggestion is not logical."

With a huge grin, Leonard drops his arms to his sides and moves ahead to follow the curve of the corridor. Spock keeps pace with him. "All right, fine," he says pleasantly. "This time I'll give your Vulcan logic some merit."

"A wise decision."

Leonard laughs, and the pair goes on, splitting up only when the turbolift stops on the deck housing McCoy's quarters.

Only once McCoy's cabin door shuts and he finds himself alone in his darkened bedroom does a strange melancholy settle over him. Spock may be on his side, but Jim is another matter entirely.

An unknown.

With a slight shake of his head, McCoy stows those thoughts and changes for the day's duties. There will be time enough to ponder what comes after the Enterprise's captain facing down Quirinus's powerful Domina.

* * *

One long, tense briefing and even longer, sleepless night later, McCoy's melancholy has stifled him like a wet blanket. As he enters the Officer's Mess, he debates whether or not he should go on duty with such a sour mood.

 _Oh, it's Dr. McCoy!_

 _That doctor, why he sure did dance better than my first husband._

 _I hope he looks at me…_

 _Leonard's the nicest man I have ever met._

The object of these unspoken snippets is in no mood to appreciate them. McCoy orders his meal from the replicator disinterestedly and offers the winking cafeteria lady (who really _is_ considering making him her next husband) a perfunctory nod. Glumly, he trudges down the center of the cafeteria, bypassing the tables on either side with the intention of locating a solitary corner.

A person steps directly into his path, sparking McCoy's ire, but is saved from one of his stinging remarks because she follows up the audacious action with a warm smile.

"Doctor, why don't you join us?" Uhura indicates the table on her left with one neatly manicured hand.

"I hope you aren't asking out of pity, Lieutenant."

"No, sir."

Leonard grudgingly nods his assent, then, and takes a seat in between Sulu and Chekov.

Sulu looks him over curiously. Chekov, already chewing on a mouthful of something unidentifiable but no doubt suitably Russian, appears more interested in Leonard's meal tray. McCoy stares the young officer down until Chekov gets the message Leonard doesn't plan to share, then sets about tucking a napkin over his lap and cutting into his country ham and eggs. Uhura asks him a harmless question; he answers. Eventually the others around him relax enough to resume the conversation they were having before he joined them. Leonard pays very little attention to most of it—until, that is, Chekov says something alarming around the sausage he is chewing: "The Keptin's acting strange."

"Strange doesn't begin to cover it," Sulu claims, stirring milk into a cup of tea. "I've seen Kirk angry, elated, and introspective but never distracted enough that he didn't seem to be present on the Bridge. Mr. Spock had to remind him three times yesterday that his shift had ended."

"Could be a mood," Uhura remarks quietly. "We all get them."

Chekov growls, "But ze way he treated Mr. Spock!"

Leonard sits up straighter. "What'd you say?"

The three officers turn to look at him.

"When Mr. Spock kept reminding the Captain he could leave the Bridge," starts Sulu while Uhura finishes, "we thought for certain he was going to snap at Mr. Spock to mind his own business."

Leonard lays down his fork, having lost his appetite. "That's not like Jim."

Sulu shakes his head slightly. "We know. But if it's a personal issue between the two of them, we should stay out of it."

His three breakfast companions stare at him again, as though waiting for him to actually hand down the verdict on whether or not involvement is allowed. Or maybe they are trying to judge if he knows anything. Or get _him_ involved.

Which he already is, damn it. "I'll take care of it."

That seems to be the right answer. Sulu drinks his tea. Uhura offers him a piece of her toast like a good luck offering. Chekov points at the country ham, wanting to know, "Are you going to finish zat?"

"There you all are!" The newcomer walking down the cafeteria's center aisle is Christine Chapel. Taking a seat beside Uhura, she smiles at Leonard as though there is nothing amiss, such as Leonard not being in the company of his two usual mealtime buddies.

Uhura flashes a brilliant smile at Chapel. "Good morning, Christine."

"A very good morning it seems to be, dear," Chapel agrees. She catches Leonard's gaze. "Dr. McCoy, those exam results you wanted are available now."

"Thank you for letting me know, Nurse." Leonard glances down at his plate, gives it a slight frown before pushing the whole thing over to Chekov. "Well, I guess I'll be off then. Thanks for the company."

Chekov stabs the ham enthusiastically without looking up. "Goodbye!"

When McCoy is halfway across the cafeteria, he pauses and turns back because of the prickly sensation of being watched. Uhura leans in to say something to Chapel. No one appears seems to be openly watching him.

But he picks up, _McCoy can fix it. He always does. That's his gift._

Oddly, the owner of that thought remains elusive even as he deftly skims the crowd. Deciding it doesn't matter, McCoy shakes off his confusion and exits the hall.

* * *

That evening from his office, McCoy sends a message without expecting a reply. He has a quick, late dinner with some of his staff in the med bay's break room, and returns to his office to finish his notes for a set of current patient files. An hour past the end of his shift, he leaves Sickbay, his new destination lying at the pinnacle of the ship two decks above the Bridge. It's a quiet spot for those with second-tier or higher clearance but is rarely used—except, of course, by three particular men.

Leonard cannot fathom why no one else comes here. The small observation deck is a cozy little circular room, reminiscent in his mind of the top of a lighthouse. Though it provides a distant view of space, emphasizing the vastness, the room also is a place of comfort, a reminder that the ship's inhabitants are in the safest place they can be compared to the unknown ahead of them. Leonard enjoys his visits to the deck and has never declined one of Kirk's invitations to join him there.

Tonight he is the one issuing the invitation. There is good reason to take advantage of the deck's privacy.

The main attraction, the viewport, is bordered by a thin strip of flooring that extends beneath the top deck. McCoy's hand slides along the guide-rail as he descends the few steps necessary to reach his favorite bench. There, he crosses one leg over the other and wraps his hands around a knee, waiting as he stares at the reflection of the back wall's chronometer in the long pane of glass.

A minute before the hour strikes, his ears catch the soft puff of the door opening. The newcomer crosses the upper deck, his steps anything but furtive. Leonardw watches the man to settle on the opposite end of the bench before drawling, "Beautiful view tonight."

"It's always beautiful," says Kirk.

 _Ah, Jim_ , Leonard thinks, studying his friend's strained expression. At this point, he decides, neither of them likely has the energy required to keep walking on egg shells. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he begins, speaking of the mistake weighing on his conscience.

Kirk's gaze fixes on the stars. "Why didn't you?"

"I was afraid of what you'd do."

"And now?" Jim asks softly.

Leonard huffs. "I'm more afraid you'll order me to stay behind. By the way, should I be worried that you managed a change in course without kicking up a fuss? You didn't do something reckless, do you, like trade years of your life for an expedited approval?"

Kirk's sigh holds an echo of amusement. He produces a hand-sized data padd, offering it to McCoy.

Leonard wants to know, "What's this for?"

"Proof that I didn't sell anything," Jim replies dryly, glancing at Leonard for the briefest moment. "I didn't need to ask permission, Bones. The Domina kicked out the delegation party two solar days ago, bringing negotiations to a standstill. The Embassy council has been scrambling to locate replacement candidates. Yesterday the Quiran High Court contacted them and nominated me."

Leonard almost drops the device. "What! You're joking!"

"I wish," Jim says more neutrally. "The timing of the recommendation is too convenient to make me feel easy about it."

Leonard says quickly, "Then we don't go."

"No." Kirk faces him, then. "We _will_ go to Quirinus."

"Jim," Leonard begins sharply before remembering to modulate his tone. Any protest will simply make Jim more resistant to changing his mind, which to Leonard means it's time for a change in tactics. "What did Spock say?"

The implacable look in Kirk's eyes softens to bemusement. "He agreed with me."

McCoy groans.

Jim finally faces him. "What?"

Leonard complains, daring to meet his friend's gaze, "Arguing with one of you might have worked, but when you've both made up your minds, it's a lost cause."

Jim looks like he doesn't understand why that is a bad thing.

"I give up," Leonard clarifies. "Let's go to Quirinus. Maybe the Domina will get mad enough to turn us into frogs. Then we can live in the ship's terrarium and catch flies for the rest of our days."

"Bones," Jim says with a blend of reproach and amusement, "you have an overactive imagination."

Leonard taps his head. "What I've got is proof that we don't really know who we're dealing with."

Kirk's expression shutters. "I'm aware of that."

Damn, damn, and damn. "Sorry, Jim. I know it's not a laughing matter."

Jim looks down then away, back to the viewport. His silence lasts a little longer than usual, but when he speaks he surprises McCoy by saying, "I am sorry too. I was… unnecessarily harsh yesterday."

"You already apologized. Besides, I don't blame you," Leonard reminds him. "I would've reacted the same way, probably worse. It was very hypocritical of me not to disclose my condition when I normally give you such a hard time about hiding anything from me."

Kirk closes his eyes. "It's partly that, Bones. The other part—" The man's throat works for a brief moment. "—was jealousy. When I saw you and Spock in the corridor, I realized there were things you would share with him that you would never share with me."

It takes Leonard a second to find his voice. "Jim, that's not true. You know that's not true."

"Do I?" Jim counters, eyeing him sideways. "Then why did he know what had happened to you when I didn't? Why would you let him—" But Jim stops there, mouth flattening again. He looks away, barreling on like something is forcing him to confess every one of his sins. "I know I might be over-stepping the line here as a… friend… but even a man such as myself isn't blind, Bones. You didn't let Spock into your mind because you assumed you had to take the risk. You trust him implicitly." Kirk's fingers curl against his knees. "Like I do. That's something to celebrate, if you ask me—so I'll celebrate it. I will."

Slightly frustrated now, Leonard intervenes, "Jim, you're losing me. What's your point?"

Jim sighs through his nose. "My point is that I can't imagine what this ability has done for you, personally. Yet I can't help but be afraid at the same time. Bones, I spend every waking moment trying to remember what's been on my mind since the Quirinus mission. I can't stop trying to remember." Kirk swallows heavily again. "What do you know? Just… what do you know?"

Leonard studies the way Kirk's hands clutch his knees, letting the silence lengthen between them. Finally Jim's nervousness makes sense to him. "You came here because you're scared I might know a secret."

"I came for the truth."

"What if I said I didn't pick up much of anything from you?"

Jim turns to stare at him, the fear in his eyes not well-hidden. "I won't believe you."

Sorrow washes over Leonard. Spock was right. "I figured as much. Fine then, here's the truth: you barely thought about me at all but when you did, it was apparent why." Leonard hates the way Jim pales. "You don't want to face what you feel." He adds slowly, "And that's perfectly okay, Jim. No one will force you to. Your secret's safe with me."

When Leonard stands up, Kirk catches his wrist. "Bones…"

When Jim is unable—or unwilling—to articulate more, Leonard shakes his head. "I'll see you at the transporter once we're in orbit above Quirinus. Good night, Captain."

Kirk slowly releases McCoy's arm. "Good night, Dr. McCoy."

With that, Leonard leaves.

* * *

Quirinus is no more visually appealing on the second visit than the first. In fact, in the span of two weeks, the planet seems to have fallen deeper into chaos and decay. McCoy is full of questions. How has the delegation party managed to remain here without fear for their own safety, watching the massive palace crumble wall by wall, chamber by chamber, as the Quirans pack into the diminishing warren of rooms? Has anyone determined why the Quirans are strangely oblivious to their state of emergency?

"Unusual," remarks the officer nearest to McCoy. Just ahead at the edge of a weedy, rotten pier now almost completely submerged in the river, the man is diligently tweaking the settings on a tricorder.

Leonard glances that way, suppressing a snort. Only a Vulcan, he thinks, could find the time for research in this ungodly situation. Nonplussed, McCoy calls out of sheer orneriness, "What happened to 'fascinating'?"

"The destruction of a planet is never fascinating, Dr. McCoy." Spock's gaze remains focused on his device. "However, in this instance it can be considered unusual. According to my readings, the rate of decay has accelerated beyond our predictions."

Leonard's interest is piqued. He wanders over to get a look at those readings. "I thought the Quirans had another half-century or so before evacuation became imminent."

Spock offers McCoy the tricorder, accommodating the doctor's curiosity. "Our decay rate model was based on the effects of the soil erosion. The erosion was assumed to be the result of depletion of the surrounding forests and the natural minerals. As you can see, there has been no significant change in the resource levels, yet the erosion is spreading more quickly than we observed during the previous survey."

Leonard frowns. "How's that possible, Spock? I'm no astrophysicist, but it's not like this planet is a star collapsing in on itself."

Spock cocks his head. "Doctor, that scenario may be worth consideration."

McCoy nearly grins. "Are you saying I have thought of something you haven't?"

"Hardly," responds the Vulcan in a drier tone. "Unlike you, I prefer to study the data more thoroughly before making my first conjecture."

Ah, that's the Spock Leonard knows and loves. He hands the tricorder back to the Vulcan. "Send this up to the ship and let your team mull over it for a while. Unfortunately, we've got more pressing matters to attend."

"Agreed," Spock replies. "Has the Captain concluded his discussion with Ambassador Nelex?"

Leonard shrugs. "Jim will call us when he's ready."

As if to prove McCoy right, Kirk's voice sounds across the courtyard. Leonard turns with Spock by his side and heads that way. As he goes, he keeps a wary eye on the palace. His conversation with Spock has left him wondering about the culprit hastening Quirinus's demise. What do the Quirans, with their closely guarded secrets, know about their planet that they have not shared with outsiders?

The tall, painfully thin man waiting next to Jim is the newly appointed ambassador to Quirinus since the Domina ousted the last one. As he and Spock approach, Leonard hears Nelex saying, "Captain, the Domina will see you in the audience hall now."

Nelex offers Spock and McCoy a cautious greeting before adding to Kirk, "I am uncertain if your officers will be welcome."

Jim is heedless of the warning. "I won't go without them. Contrary to what the head of the Embassy may have told you, Ambassador, I am not here to serve the Quirans' whim."

When Jim pivots away and starts for the palace entrance, Nelex looks nervous. But the ambassador masks the expression so quickly, Leonard feels discouraged from asking why. Nelex goes after Kirk quietly, and Spock and McCoy follow in the pair's wake after exchanging a glance.

The audience hall must have been grand once. Its cathedral ceiling is marked by a row of small square skylights along the sides of the roof. Each skylight, Leonard discovers, has been designed to take advantage of the angle of the sun, calling attention to a uniquely carved tile on the floor. Individually the reliefs appear to be scenes from Quiran history. Or perhaps myth instead of history, thinks Leonard, studying the one nearest him. The tile portrays people like trees, some rooted firmly in the ground, dormant, their eyes closed, while others are awake and struggling to detach themselves from the earth.

The tiles are the only decoration in an otherwise faded and somber room.

At the end of the hall, the Domina watches her visitors' approach from a high-backed throne on a raised dias. On the throne's highest point clings a massive bird, crow-black with a bald head and neck usually indicative of a carrion-eater. Its dark gaze mirrors the Domina's, observing the audience coldly while blank-faced guards move to enclose the off-worlders in a half-circle from behind. Somewhere distantly a bell begins to toll.

The Domina offers her guests no greeting, her diffident gaze difficult to read. Kirk matches her stare for stare.

Following an unsettling silence, Jim makes an abbreviated bow as Quiran etiquette dictates. "Domina, we meet again."

"Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise," the Domina returns with a deliberate slowness. "I am hopeful that your return to Quirinus brings good fortune. I have been disappointed recently. My favorable impression of you was not reflected in those you left behind."

Nelex frowns lightly, though he says nothing to defend himself or his predecessor.

But the Domina turns her head as if the man had spoken and issues an imperial command. "Leave us, Ambassador."

The man's face slackens. The others look on as Nelex turns around and exits the hall without vocal protest, although his gait is stiff and awkward as a person being marched out by force.

Kirk's head whips back toward the Domina. "What did you do to Nelex?"

There is a subtle, arrogant lift to the Domina's chin. "I encouraged an unwanted guest to leave."

Jim's face darkens.

Alarmed, Leonard reaches for his captain's arm, but the slight movement of Spock's head reminds him not to interfere—yet.

Jim demands, "Is this what you make of the Federation, Domina—puppets subject to your whim?"

The Domina's clipped tone echoes Kirk's. "The powerless have no choice but to learn their place. Has that not been so in your own people's history?"

"We learned better ways," Kirk answers. "I'll ask you this question only once, Domina, and I expect an honest answer. Why are you interested in our institution?"

For a short time, the hall falls into a tense silence. The Quirans closest to the throne don't seem daring enough to look at their leader. Just when Leonard thinks the Domina is going to tell the lot of them to take a long walk off one of the city's decrepit piers, she closes her eyes.

"We are without choice," she reveals slowly, as though the act of speaking those words is a great burden. Opening her eyes again, the Domina pins Kirk with a challenging gaze. "But your Federation's worth has yet to be proven to me. I fear I made a mistake in requesting your assistance, Captain Kirk. If this planet must perish—and us with it—so be it."

That last statement has such a ringing finality that it causes a jolt of alarm to run down Leonard's spine. But in the next instant he is much less disturbed by his own reaction than by the effect of the words on the Quirans in residence. The Domina's High Court break their silence with a collective wail. Some of them fall to their knees; others fist their hands over their eyes. They render at their robes, rip ornaments from their hair and jewels from their fingers.

In tandem with McCoy, Kirk backs up one step then another, crowding towards Spock. One of his arms reaches behind him blindly, groping for and finding Leonard's sleeve. Then Kirk tries to push McCoy flush to Spock's side at the same time shifting his stance to shield them both.

"Damn it, Jim," Leonard mutters, not entirely pleased Jim doesn't think twice about putting himself between his officers and the mad Quirans.

"Domina!" Jim barks. "What is this!"

In response, the chaos intensifies. Leonard watches, horrified, as a Quiran on his hands and knees tries to crawl towards the throne.

A voice colder than the Domina's cuts across the melee: " _Enough._ "

The Domina looks to Spock. The bird on the throne flutters.

"Your point is made," Spock insists.

The madness stops. Quirans pick themselves up off the floor, helping one another, their gazes lowered with shame as they subtly fix their clothes, blot reddened faces with torn sleeves, and re-adjust coifs of hair. When each person has returned to his or her former position, the High Court lift their faces to the Domina as one.

Leonard's mouth goes dry as he finally comprehends what Spock must have already figured out. The Quirans are ensorcelled.

He nearly chokes from the horror of it, unable to look away from them even as they cannot look elsewhere but at the woman now lazily feeding a piece of meat to the bird above her head.

Jim's hands form fists. "Domina, I require an explanation."

"Require? Why should I heed any demand from you, Captain? We have no relationship. No alliance." The Domina wipes her fingers on a piece of cloth held out by an attendant who had unobtrusively approached her and just as silently backs away.

"Nor we will in the future if the Federation discovers the Quirans have intentionally misrepresented themselves," Jim counters. "Honesty is a requirement for both negotiating parties."

The Domina sits forward suddenly. "Kirk, I have shown you the truth. You take offense because of your own ignorance. Consider what you have seen more deeply. What might have these men and women done to themselves, to each other without interference?"

"Did you make them that way?" Leonard demands.

The Domina's gaze transfers to him, her mouth thinning. "That is a vile accusation."

"We just watched you force our ambassador's departure without his consent. I can't say you _wouldn't_ do something that amoral," retorts Leonard.

The Quiran sits back, her fingers drumming against one of the throne's arms. "I am chosen by the people to protect the people. Because I exist, this world continues to exist. All that I do is to keep us alive. You see the plight of the Quirans, yet you cannot conceive the measures necessary to counteract it."

"We would appreciate clarification, Domina," Spock says. "Otherwise, it is only logical for us to explain that which we do not know—or cannot conceive of—with guesswork."

Leonard cuts a glance at the Vulcan. _That's not what you said earlier, you silver-tongued diplomat._ He bets Sarek would be proud of his son's diplomatic finesse.

Kirk adds, "Domina, now is your chance to enlighten us. What's wrong with your people? Why must you control them?"

"It is as I have said: to preserve life. Otherwise, you would come here with your special crafts and childish hopes, walk among our abandoned relics and broken cities, wondering what terrible fate befell the once-resplendent race of Quirinus." The slight curl of her mouth is humorless. "I can describe that fate as one who has survived it. The dying have no reason, only fits of panic and bouts of rage. They murder neighbors over trinkets. Slaughter their own families out of misguided mercy. Tear down ancient monuments and live rashly, fearlessly, cruelly as only those doomed to perish into the ether can. Tell me, does _madness_ interest _you_ , Captain Kirk?"

Leonard has to give his captain credit. The man doesn't flinch.

"I am sorry your people have fallen on desperate times. I can only reiterate what you already know. If you need help, we will help you." Jim pauses, continues more slowly, "But no matter how desperate the situation, I cannot condone the practice of one person taking away another person's free will. Where I come from, it simply isn't done."

"Then you reject our entry into the Federation."

"I have no authority to make a decision concerning your membership, Domina," Kirk answers gravely. "I speak as a Federation citizen who wants you to understand that our tenets of unity and freedom of choice are paramount to our way of life. When you are part of a federation, you are part of a family—and each family member has rights, the first right being to his or her own person. I see no evidence to the contrary that these men and women are allowing you that right."

"I am Domina. My will is law. My will is life. The right is inherent to my position."

"So says every elected official before he becomes a dictator," mutters McCoy.

This time Kirk flinches. Guiltily Leonard wishes he had kept his mouth shut. Kodos of Tarsus IV had employed that kind of thinking. Thousands of people died. Jim knows it firsthand.

"I won't discuss this further with you, Domina," Kirk states, "but I will pass on your perspective to the embassy in charge of your application."

The Domina nods once, though how she can be satisfied by that outcome Leonard has no idea. The Members' Council will review Kirk's report and promptly vote against Quirinus's admission to the Federation.

Her mission accomplished, the Domina's countenance becomes mischievious. Like a cat with its paw on a mouse's tail, she purrs, "Now, shall we hear _your_ reason for coming here, Captain?"

For a split second, Kirk seems to lose control of his expression. But the fury is blanketed as quickly as it appears.

McCoy doesn't wait to hear what Jim will say. "I want to talk to the Domina alone," he asserts.

Kirk and Spock turn to him in surprise.

"I do not recommend it," Spock starts before Kirk cuts over his second-in-command with a resounding " _No._ "

Leonard draws his shoulders back, adopting a stern tone filled with medical authority that no captain can override. "If you want to debate rights, sir, I have the right to question any party involved in a patient's ailment. That conversation may be carried out in confidence if and when I deem it necessary—and at this time, I do."

Kirk's face darkens momentarily, but in the end he concedes the truth of McCoy's words. "I'll give you five minutes, Doctor." Holding Leonard's gaze, he emphasizes, " _Five_ minutes," which tells Leonard that Spock will be keeping a very accurate count of the time for Jim.

That said, Jim turns away as if not to waste a single second with their parting, heading for the archway on the opposite side of the room. Spock stares at McCoy a second longer before following Kirk.

Relieved to have won that small battle, Leonard faces the Domina. "As you can see, my captain isn't happy with me… or you. He found out about what you did to me."

The Domina arches an eyebrow. "Have you enjoyed the gift?"

"It's not a gift," Leonard says. "It's a lesson in humility."

Her chin dips, the barest of motions. "Surely you did not expect a reward for your willfulness."

"I didn't expect punishment. Look, at this point I don't care why you did it, just _undo it_."

The Domina leans forward, radiating a sudden unusual interest. "Have you considered how useful such an ability can be? What disturbs you now, you could learn to appreciate in time."

He tamps down on a flare of panic. "No. Don't you understand? I don't want it!"

Her gaze hardens. "You dare to raise your voice again? You have learned nothing."

"Undo it, please," he insists. "Stop playing this game with me."

"Fear not," the Domina responds, her voice dripping disdain, "I can do nothing more. You have fortified yourself against me."

Leonard says dumbly, "I… what?"

The Domina's gaze sharpens once more. "I see," she states after a time, resuming her relaxed pose. Her gaze flickers briefly to the archway. "I believe I have underestimated your friends—although it cannot be the captain. He would be subject to my will as easily as any other. The Vulcan, then. A creature most unusual—and most similar to us."

Leonard is confused but more than that, he is afraid.

The Domina focuses on McCoy again. "Call to him."

McCoy shakes his head. He won't bring Jim and Spock into this.

From her throne, the Domina looks as though she could wait indefinitely for Leonard to comply. After a short while, she remarks, "Do you not know how?"

He snorts. "The moment I raise my voice even the slightest, both my captain and his first officer will in here asking questions you won't like."

Amused, the woman elaborates, "I did not say you must use your voice."

Leonard's forehead creases. "What?"

"I should like to discover how strong your connection to the Vulcan is. Call him to you, Doctor," the Domina orders.

Her dulcet tones and intense gaze are spell unto themselves. Leonard does as bidden without thinking twice, issuing a tentative _Spock?_

The Domina's eyes become hooded, her lips curving in a satisfied smile in the same instant that Spock appears around the curve of the archway. Even with his subdued manner, Spock looks alarmed, coming stiffly to a stop at the sight of a gaping McCoy. Kirk pulls up short behind the Vulcan in time to prevent a collision.

Leonard can only stare, struck dumb by the knowledge Spock had heard him from so far away without words.

"Dr. McCoy," Spock questions intently, his eyes sweeping fast over McCoy from head to toe, "are you well?"

Jim steps around his First Officer, watching the exchange between Spock and McCoy briefly before his attention lands on the Domina. "What's going on here?"

"An intriguing development," the Domina determines with a perverse delight. "Spock of Vulcan, why have you meddled with my subject?"

Leonard un-freezes. " _Subject?_ The hell I am!"

With visible fury, Kirk starts for the throne. The stone-like guards jump to life and swarm the space between the Domina and the angry captain, forming a blockade two men deep.

Jim's voice blazes across the hall. "Domina, I shouldn't need to remind you that my men and I do not belong to you. We are citizens of the United Federation of Planets."

The Quiran leader waves a dismissive hand. "Your healer bears a spell of my making, which grants me the right to question his condition. However I will concede that the man is obviously yours—and another's. Tell me, Captain, are you aware that your second-in-command has claimed McCoy for his own?"

Jim flushes, his hands opening and closing at his sides.

The Domina turns her glittering gaze on Spock. "You seek to undo my will."

While not as accusatory as the Domina's, Spock's cool voice is not less challenging. "I am Vulcanian, Domina. You should not judge me by Quiran standards. The shielding of Dr. McCoy's mind which you appear to find offensive is the result of an act in keeping with my nature." He pauses before explaining further, "An instinctive measure employed by one of my species during the _kash-nohv_ , a rite which unites minds of close acquaintance. The shield prevents damage or interference from outsiders. To leave that connection unprotected is not logical."

Leonard doesn't know what to make of this new information, which he finds more disturbing than the ease with which Spock is telepathically attuned to him. How is Spock shielding his mind without his permission any different than the 'gift' the Domina forced upon him?

It's Jim who looks at McCoy with understanding in his eyes. But, oddly enough, the man points out, "Spock is trying to protect you, Bones."

Leonard has to look away. "Is it too much to ask to be an old country doctor again?" His gaze finds the Domina. "I told you, I don't want any special abilities. If I was meant to have them, I would have been born different than I am."

"I will not offer the same gift twice," the Domina warns him. "You may regret your choice."

"I'll take that chance," Leonard replies.

She beckons McCoy forward and does not seem surprised when Kirk and Spock flank him.

Jim grips Leonard's arm when the guards come forward to block Leonard's companions from ascending the dias. Leonard pats the man's hand comfortingly. "This is what we came for, remember?"

The Domina waits until Leonard is in arm's reach before questioning Spock, "Will you interfere?"

Spock returns her stare evenly. "If necessary."

With a dip of her chin, the Domina beckons Leonard closer still. He doesn't understand why she wants him so near to hand when the last time she cast her spell, it was from the confines of a sick bed. But he obeys anyway for the simple fact that he cannot take the risk of coming away from Quirinus in the same state.

The Domina's palm is dry when it comes to rest against the side of his face. Uncomfortable, Leonard resists the urge to look back at Jim and Spock.

The Domina finds his nervousness entertaining. "Are you prepared, Doctor?"

He nods into her hand.

The Domina's eyelids fall to half-mast. "A thought, a word, a heart, a life."

This time as she starts the incantation, Leonard can feel an elusive sensation building close to him—at him, then in him—like someone has begun to delicately unravel the layers enclosing his mind. Vaguely he is aware of a tremor running through his physical body.

"All departs. All is silent. So shall it be."

A soft band-like snap. Then…

Freedom. Leonard recognizes it, knowing with certainty the spell, or counter-spell, is complete. He blinks.

Kirk bounds up the steps in the aftermath, taking hold of McCoy as though to judge for himself the difference between the doctor before and after the Domina's work. "Bones? Are you all right?"

"Jim." Leonard regains his bearings. "Quick, think something nice about me."

The concern in Kirk's eyes is briefly overridden by a small amount of humor. After a moment, he asks, "Well?"

Another fine tremor runs through Leonard, this time the beginnings of hope. His gaze drops to the Vulcan watching them. "Spock?"

Spock comes slowly up the steps. Leonard extends an arm. There is no sensation other than a slight coolness against McCoy's skin as Spock's fingers encircle his wrist.

"The Domina's influence is gone," Spock announces shortly thereafter.

Relief passes across all their faces.

Jim turns to the Domina, asking the one question that has yet to be properly answered. "Why?"

"To give you a reason to return," she answers simply.

Leonard blurts out, "But what good are we to you? You don't even like us!"

The Domina's gaze takes them in one by one, starting with McCoy. "Passion." Then Kirk. "Honor." Lastly, Spock. "Reason." She focuses again on Leonard. "You insisted the crew of the Enterprise would be trustworthy. Of that crew, these two are your most trusted—and should Quirinus have need of others in the future, shall be the ones I choose to trust as well." She becomes amused. "This time I did not endanger my life to garner the information I required, Dr. McCoy. You must be relieved."

Relieved is the last word that comes to McCoy's mind. But the presence of Kirk and Spock reminds him that he ought to avoid trouble if he can, and so he maintains a diplomatic silence.

Jim, too, says nothing, his expression tinged with unease as he descends the platform steps, pulling Leonard with him. Spock remains behind, studying the Quiran with a tilt to his head that means there is a certain quality about her that has caught his interest.

"You may ask one question, Spock of Vulcan," the Domina offers magnanimously.

Spock's thoughtful consideration lasts a moment longer before he says, "Will you seek our help, or will you continue to allow this planet to destroy itself?"

"I have not decided."

Spock inclines his head ever-so-slightly. " _Nam-tor wak vah yut s'vesht na'fa'wak heh pla'rak. I'wak mesukh-yut t'on._ " He translates, "Time is a path from the past to the future and back again. The present is the crossroads of both."

"A wise saying," the Domina praises. "I shall consider your words." Her dark eyes gleam, then. "Shall I offer you a gift in return?"

"No!" Kirk and McCoy cry together.

"A gift is already given, Domina," Spock replies with grave courtesy.

Slowly, the corners of the Domina's mouth tilt into a smile. Leonard is fascinated by how the mere act transforms her into a more ordinary, younger-looking woman.

"I understand, Spock of Vulcan." With the smile reflected in her eyes, the Domina looks to Kirk and McCoy. "May you enjoy the gift for years to come."

Leonard doesn't know how, but he has the uncomfortable sensation she is well-aware of—and approves of—their feelings for each other. He tugs on Jim's hand, muttering, "Let's get out of here."

"Agreed." Jim flips open his communicator. "Kirk to Enterprise. Three to energize on my command."

"Transporter Room II here. Awaiting your signal, Captain."

Kirk turns, releasing Leonard's hand, and out of habit, Leonard falls in step with Kirk on the left, Spock joining them on the right. As they leave behind the palace's audience hall, another bell begins a slow dirge, faint and far away. The outer courtyard is empty, neither Quirans nor the delegation party in sight. Leonard glances around while Jim runs his thumb over his communicator's cover, also taking the opportunity to make one final study of their surroundings.

Tattered curtains flutter over window-sized stone arches. Shadows shift fluidly across open doorways. Leonard cannot quite shake the impression that the palace itself is restlessly awaiting their departure.

Their small group starts in surprise when, nearby, the last piece of the pier breaks away from the bank with an echoing _snap_. As they look on, it sinks beneath the muddy water of the river.

"If we decide to come back, will there be anything left?" McCoy wonders aloud.

Spock responds, "One cannot know for certain."

Jim looks at Spock. "Your best guess, Spock?"

Spock's gaze flickers between them before settling on the empty space left by the drowned pier. "When the Domina ensnared the minds of those unable to accept an end to their lives as they knew it, unlike them, she had already chosen to allow it."

"She's going to let her race die?" Hearing that clearly upsets Kirk as much as it does McCoy.

"Perhaps not in the way that we understand it," Spock says. "The carved tiles in the hall depict Quiran civilization through a progression of states: the growth of society, a time of saturation in wealth and greed, a period of chaos and destruction similar to that which the Quirans are experiencing now."

Leonard recalls, "That odd picture of people sprouting up from the ground like crops. I thought it was a fabrication."

"I believe, Doctor, that particular tile refers to the Quirans' re-invention of themselves and their way of life."

"Rebirth," Leonard says with a wondrous shake of his head. "Tabula rasa for an entire civilization. Is that possible?"

Spock raises an eyebrow.

McCoy rolls his eyes. "Oh, of course. If the _Vulcans_ can do it, it must be reasonable for any race to."

Jim interrupts with a soft sigh, "We can debate the nuances of this matter later." He lifts the cover of his communicator and contacts the ship, relaying the order for transport.

For once, Leonard has no reason to complain about having his molecules dispersed and reassembled. As strange and unique as Quirinus and its inhabitants are, he would rather return to the mundaneness of his work-life on the Enterprise. _Sans_ any new, awkward abilities.

McCoy thinks his companions must feel the same. Kirk is quick to say, "Mr. Spock, you have the conn. Tell Mr. Sulu to break orbit."

"Yes, Captain," the Vulcan replies obediently and heads out of the room.

Jim turns to him, then, his expression unusually shuttered.

"Sickbay?" McCoy guesses.

Kirk nods. On their way from the transporter room, Leonard stops by the wall comm and calls up Dr. Noel, asking her to meet them in his office.

Leonard understands. He really does. Jim needs tangible evidence that his CMO and friend is back to normal. Between himself, Chapel, and Noel, McCoy is certain they can ease the captain's mind.

It is what must happen after the confirmation that worries Leonard. After all, he may no longer read minds but he cannot forget what he learned while he did.

* * *

A day later, the Enterprise is back on course for her next mission and all appears to be business as usual.

Except for the brooding of a certain man.

Ironic, McCoy decides, that said brooding quarry can be found in the same lounge area where he had made the initial discovery of two well-kept secrets that changed his perception of himself.

Choosing the chair next to Kirk, Leonard remarks, "I thought we agreed replicated whiskey is a poor substitute for the real thing."

Kirk downs the amber liquid in his glass before responding. "A man can't always be picky."

Leonard huffs softly. "Well, at least you aren't drunk."

Jim offers him a thin smile. "A captain can't always indulge either."

"Do you mind?" Kirk shakes his head as Leonard reaches for the empty glass and refills it from the decanter on the table. He pours a small portion for himself, takes a sip, makes a face, and drinks the entire mouthful regardless.

Setting the glass down, McCoy glances around the lounge. "Where's everybody?"

"I reserved the room for the night."

McCoy's eyebrows shoot up. "The _whole_ bar? What're you expecting, a proposal?" When Jim's gaze skips away, Leonard winces. "Sorry."

Jim sighs through his nose, pouring them another drink from the decanter. "I just needed to think. My cabin felt stuffy."

 _And too near to half of the reason you're feeling crowded_. Leonard would bet that Jim doesn't even realize he is trying to avoid them. "Let me give you some advice," he offers, removing the tumbler from Kirk's hand before Jim can touch his mouth to it.

"As what?" Jim asks warily. "My doctor?"

"A man in a similar situation."

Kirk sits back on his stool and regards McCoy more seriously. "I'm listening."

"There are a few parts to this wisdom," Leonard cautions. "First, drinking does _not_ make a problem easier to solve."

The corner of Jim's mouth tips up. "I wonder why you don't listen to your own advice."

"Shut up," retorts the doctor without any heat. "Second, never forget that Vulcans have excellent hearing."

Kirk cocks his head in confusion. "Why?"

"Because Spock, who happens to be standing outside, is too well-mannered to come in here and break up your pity party."

Jim's eyes widen. "You're kidding."

"Not that I'm complaining about the interruption to my work day," Leonard continues dryly. "I was already looking for an excuse not to finish today's paperwork."

McCoy's friend groans. "I thought I was alone."

"Never," he counters. "Now for the third part." Leonard waits until he has Kirk's attention again. "You know this one better than me, Jim: there's no point in avoiding the truth."

"Bones," Kirk says in warning.

"If you keep trying, you'll hurt us too. Is that what you want?" Leonard remarks softly.

Jim glances at the tumbler captive in Leonard's hand. "No. I don't want any of us to get hurt."

"I know. That's what bothers you so much. You can't figure out what the no-win scenario is." The gaze on him sharpens. "Because this seems like heaven, doesn't it? No need to calculate the odds, devise a strategy. Change the rules. And it's driving you crazy."

"It's too perfect," Jim agrees, looking more troubled. "Both of you seem… willing."

"Which is what you hoped for despite all your misgivings," Leonard finishes for him.

Kirk closes his eyes, saying nothing for a moment. "How did you know?"

Leonard almost chuckles. "I suppose I've been quite the mind-reader lately."

Jim holds his gaze then, mirroring Leonard's hint of amusement. But he says, "Reading minds isn't your specialty, Bones."

"It is when it comes to seeing through you," he retorts.

Kirk's mouth twitches; then his countenance turns somber again. "So what does a man in our situation do?"

Leonard sighs in sympathy and decides to make it easier for both of them, leaning in before he can lose his courage. The quick press of their mouths is hardly a kiss, more like the testing of an idea. And, Leonard hopes, the catalyst both of them so desperately need to move past the uncertainty.

He pulls back in time to see shock steal across Jim's face. Leonard feels a keen disappointment.

But once Kirk's shock passes, so does the hard-won control. Hope fills his eyes.

A warmth starting in Leonard's face spreads throughout his body. "Well," he teases a bit nervously, "what else are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?"

Happiness replaces hope. Kirk's "Bones" is husky with wonder and also with warning.

McCoy leans in again, wondering vaguely how he can be so easily seduced by the sound of a nickname. This time Kirk meets him halfway.

One long minute later, pulling back, McCoy is almost out of breath. "Do you kiss all your crushes like that?"

"Only the best ones," Jim replies, sliding his hands up Leonard's biceps to his shoulders as though to draw him forward again. "Have I told you your eyes are the prettiest I've ever seen? How does that famous sonnet go? Ah, yes, ' _Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate._ '"

"Oh god," Leonard bemoans, "not Shakespeare. Please, Jim. I might have to plug my ears."

Kirk looks a tad disappointed. "No Shakespeare?"

"I don't need to be wooed." He grins. "I'm already wooed. Can't you tell?"

Jim considers him. "Unfortunately I can't take credit for that."

Leonard closes his eyes, making his deepest sigh yet. "That damned Vulcan."

Jim gives him a light shake. "Admit it, Bones. You owe him."

McCoy's eyes snap open. "For what! Scheming, maybe."

"I find that term offensive, Doctor. To scheme implies a duplicitous agenda. I merely enacted a plan with an outcome beneficial for us."

Damn, thinks Leonard. How had he forgotten his own advice about Vulcans and their super-hearing?

"That is the definition of scheming," Jim says as he and Leonard turn as one to look at the owner of the voice. "Were you eavesdropping, Spock?"

Spock insists, indignant, "Jim, Vulcans do not eavesdrop."

"Could of fooled us," drawls Leonard. "Have you seen the size of those pointed satellites fixed to your head?"

"Leonard, I am well-aware that you find my ears appealing."

Leonard flushes and backs down.

Jim tries to muffle his laughter with a fist.

Annoyed, McCoy elbows the snickering man in the ribs. "Just wait until Spock reads your mind and exposes all your secrets," he threatens. "Then you won't find it so funny."

Spock informs them serenely, "I already have."

Jim freezes, eyes widening. "You what? When?"

"Quite a long time ago," supplies Spock, "as we have melded multiple times over the course of our acquaintance. Inevitable, one might purport, that a connection should establish itself."

Oh, the stunned look on Jim's face! Now Leonard is the one laughing.

"I would like to express my deepest gratitude, Jim," the Vulcan continues on. "Due to the continued sharing of emotional information, I discerned your interest in Leonard as well as myself. In accordance, I considered my own emotions concerning each of you."

"Oh god," Leonard says with finality, "so it's all _Jim's_ fault."

"No," Jim denies in a strangled voice. But when Leonard just tsks at him, he settles for muttering, "I didn't know."

"Since the topic is open for discussion, shall we deliberate upon the best course of action? I have several suggestions," Spock proposes.

Jim and Leonard exchange a glance. Leonard speaks first. "I say we have another drink."

"Seconded," agrees the other man.

Spock stares at the two humans for only a moment before facing the exit. "The menu here is unsuitable. It is most fortunate that I have recently restocked my selection of teas."

Leonard whispers to Jim as Spock starts across the lounge without them like they will automatically follow, "I think that is supposed to entice us to his quarters."

Jim whispers back, "Why would we find tea enticing?"

"Because it's fancy and Vulcan and only _Spock_ keeps it."

"Oh," says Kirk, his eyes twinkling good-naturedly. "Of course. Quite logical."

Leonard grins. "Courtship via tea dates. I have to admit, a creative scheme if I ever heard one."

This time Jim smiles, slipping his hand into McCoy's to squeeze his fingers as he stands up. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Bones."

"Me either."

In charity with one another, they cross the lounge to catch up to their waiting third by the door. Spock looks at their joined hands in approval.

"Our connections," he says, "are nearly complete."

"What's left?" Leonard asks, curious.

The look in Spock's eyes is a promise to enlighten both of them to that answer very soon.

 **The End**

* * *

 **Well, I finished it. Don't ask me why this prompt required such a long fill. It just did. Thank you to everyone who followed along with the patience of a saint. I will probably return in short order. I need the Triumvirate like I need air. :)**


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